American - Forsaking home

I mmersed in total darkness, deprived of human contact, chained and afraid: this is how Jess, Mary, and Fred spent their days. Had it been a day, a week, or possibly worse yet, mere hours since they were they thrown into prison? Without being able to see the sun or even its reflection, time was a relative thing. Only the irregular checks the staff performed on them broke the monotonous routine.

Jess lay on the cold concrete floor, her hands clamped between her legs to try and keep them warm. The darkness was so complete that only by blinking her eyes could she even tell if they were open. Despite her current situation, she didnt regret the decision that landed her here. Given a chance she would do it all over again, without hesitation. The only thing that she felt bad about was that her friends were also detained. She now spent her time trying to think herself out of her predicament.

Mary was not faring nearly as well as Jess. She was, in a word, broken. Absent now were her cries and wails that had initially filled the halls. Her outbursts drew immediate reprisals from her jailers. Their methods of punishment ranged from hosing her down with cold water to what she was now sufferinghaving a rag stuffed into her mouth, held in place with duct tape. Her low, pitiful moans were nearly inaudible beyond the walls of her cell.

Fred, unlike her companions, was not idle. She had surveyed the entirety of her cell to the extent her chained hands would allow. Crawling on the floor, she ran her hand along the walls edges, starting at the door and working her way around. She then used her body, keeping her head at the wall, to search the center of the room. The only thing she found in the room was a bucket, its purpose obvious. Once she completed the search of the floor she stood up and went around the walls. With her hands chained to her waist, Fred could only raise her hands chest-high. The walls were bare, she determined, the door the only feature she found.

The three were subject to random checks by the staff. Some encounters more abusive than others, depending on the guard. Of the methods used to punish them, the worst was the spotlight. At random, they would be ordered to stand and recite their names and ID numbers as a bright light was shined on their faces. The incredible intensity of light on their eyes after so many hours of complete darkness was painful. After these checks, white orbs were burned into their vision. Tears would run down their faces, their eyes watering uncontrollably.

Whenever a door would open, the women all experienced the same emotional response: panic. Despite their best efforts to remain calm, all three would feel the rise in their pulse and the quickening of their breathing whenever anyone entered the door. Without the use of sight, they could rely only on their hearing. They would listen to boots scuffing and crunching the sand on the concrete floor as their tormentors moved down the row of cells. Upon hearing the door open, they would get to their feet and prepare to deliver the information demanded. The faster they could recite their IDs, the quicker they would be left in darkness again. As bad as the blackness was, it was preferable to the torments they suffered in the light.

When they first entered the jail, they were dressed in jumpsuits. With the waist chain restraining their hands, they could not get out of them to relieve themselves. All three urinated on themselves, though each managed with great effort not to defecate. At some pointhours, days, they didnt knowtheir cell doors were opened one by one. They were ordered to kneel down, and their hands and feet were freed. Male officers then ordered them to strip, and they were each thrown a smock and a pair of pants. After this humiliationthe officers, of course, felt free to make comments about them as they undressedthey were again chained and left in their cells. This at least allowed them to relieve themselves. It was the only humane treatment they would receive.

They were each fed once a day via a bowl slid in through a smaller door near the floor, and with each meal, a sixteen-ounce water bottle was given to them. At the same time, their buckets would be exchanged for empty ones. No word was ever said to them, though Fred was beginning to think the person bringing their food and taking the buckets was a civilian worker. Those footsteps were not as loud as the ones from whoever shone the light in their faces. They sounded softer, more like sneakers. That, compounded by the fact that there was little chance the DHS goons would handle the buckets, made her confident in her opinion.

At this point in time, the three women had barely been able to communicate with each other. Fear of reprisal from their jailers kept them silent for the most part, though they did risk it on occasion. Usually after a meal was brought they would wait for a while, and then check on one another. Little was said other than Are you guys okay? Answered with hushed whispers of Yes, you?