by Sarah Kedar

A patch of dried blood; scratching it off, as instructed; nail chips off–finger pricks at rough wood. Fresh drop of blood…Scratch; keep scratching it off–scratch, scratch, scratch; Do not stop–scratch, scratch, keep scratching it off; nothing to be left behind. They are here–watching me break my nails off. I’m in a glass cabin with a wooden floor; have to scratch and scratch till it all clears up. I speed up–chip more nails–all of the ten are gone. Fingers bleed, but why can’t I stop. I stand up and stare at them–the voices laugh and I swear at them. I fall on my knees–keep scratching, then I hit the glass with all my might; punch, kick, bang, scratch–scratch it. I scream and pull my hair–then hit the glass and cry. Why won’t you let me out, I say; why don’t you let me out, I scream. They say you are to be here for eternity–scratch and scratch at the dried blood till your fingers bleed; and scratch some more–then die in pain.

Sarah Kedar lives in Dubai and manages an e-zine, The Fable Online. She is about yay high.