It wasn’t the hunger. Or the cold. Or the worry that their bruises won’t have time to heal before another layer made lace of the colors on their skin, to serve a lesson in horror and morals for their kin.
It was, more than anything, the despair.
The utter loneliness within.
The feeling that there will never be another way to be. Another way to live. Another place to be.
For the Commune was The Law, and The Law was The Faith, and The Faith was the whip and the rope and the cellar’s dirt floor.
The Law was everything.
Until.
That day when someone – who some later said was of the lost who were forbidden to be let back in – breached the fences. Ignored the “No Entry” sign circling the fields. Climbed through the grasses.
With a lens. And later, with the law.
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
Na'ama Yehuda 
Oh, I like this, a story with depth. I thank you 😊
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Thank you! Great photo!
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Thank you. I struggle sometimes. I’ve a tendency to go for bridges & gates cos therein lies easy stories 😊
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Indeed … 🙂
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When you take a writing break, you come back with more gusto than ever. This was an amazingly full story in so few words. You, Missy, have a gift.
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Thank you, my friend! Me blushing! 🙂 Happy Canada Day to you!!! Your NYNF! 🙂
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You truly are such a wonderful story teller, my friend. blush away but it is true.
And thank you, eh?
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Awwww … thank you!!! It takes one to know one, me say … eh? 😉
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💕
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