Hole
She never liked to open her eyes.
There was never any point in it.
She couldn't see either way.
There was a metal door, it was up.
She was outside, she could tell.
She could smell things she usually couldn't.
Hear things she usually couldn't.
She felt the rain, smelled dirt, felt her tight chest and her weak knees.
She was hungry, sick, cold, hot.
Her head pounded.
She didn't dream, she couldn't.
Her days ran together that way.
But she knew how many days or months passed.
When she was awake, anyway.
Fully awake.
She was mostly alone these days.
Birds chirp, get up.
That's what they called them.
Walk around the darkness.
A square.
Small, but she was tiny as it is.
Try her strength on the door.
Up, down, up, down.
100 times if she could.
If not, she'd lay there in her own filth.
It was dark.
It was always dark.
But there was no point in opening her eyes.
Her stomach ached in more ways than one.
Her head throbbed.
Her hands and feet were freezing, her head hot and pounding.
She was always in the hole if she wasn't with them.
Or if she wasn't sleeping.
Deep sleeping.
It quiet.
Suffocating.
Noxious.
She didn't remember what it was like to be clean for more than a day.
She was stuck here in that darkness.
Alone.
But, it wasn't the worst thing.