Short Story: My Fear Of Light

Short Story: My Fear Of Light

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Only when the movement and sounds of chatter subsided outside my small building and the darkness of the evening cooled could I feel safe enough to try and sleep. From my tensed squatting position in the corner I would crawl feeling my way along the wall to find my makeshift bed. There I could lay down on the flattened cardboard boxes and stretched out my cramped legs and sip the water from the plastic bottle that I kept tucked and safe under my trouser waistband. I would pull the large towel over my body as a blanket snuggling in its warmth and wrapped in its fetid smell. I often drifted in and out of a disturbing sleep dreaming of my daughter Alexia waving to me on her first day off to school dressed in her new uniform. Then images of headless bodies holding her hand as she skipped along would shock my body bolt upright, fearful and listening. My only comfort was sipping the sweet water from the bottle that gave a sense of meaning to life a thread of perpetual hope.

My nightmares never allowed the pleasure of deep sleep and mornings were marked by a narrow beam of light penetrating through a small crack in the concrete breezeblock wall. I would crawl to the corner behind the metal door and slide the wooden lid off the pit that was my toilet. What dignity I had left was only preserved by loneliness in the dark. My trousers were ripped and the sleeves of my shirt had been torn off in an earlier desperate struggle, I felt engrained in an odour of filth. My hair was matting around the edges, yet the fresh splash on my face and neck with water from the bottle each morning was a feeling of normality. A ritual of self-respect that gave me the psychological strength to face what was to come next.

I would find my position in the furthest corner from the door to squat and calm myself with rhythmic steady breathing. My alarm would intensify as I watched the sharp pinpoint ray of light slowly creep over the dust and detritus of the floor as under the morning sun the atmosphere in the cell did become stifling and hot. I calculated it would happen any moment now and my sweating fear mixed with the rancid odour from the toilet pit. With a crash the steel door burst open and the blinding light rushed in followed by dark shadows that screamed in Arabic. Hands grabbed my hair as a rifle butt hit my face followed by the torrents of kicks forcing me to scramble around in the dust. A powerful slap across my faced numbed my senses even further and my muscles automatically pulled my body into the foetal position on the dirt floor. I felt the reverberations around the building as the door banged shut and momentarily I was relieved as my adrenaline panic subsided. Slowly, I searched around for a full water bottle and also found the paper bag with a piece of chicken, dry bread and dates. A sensation of happiness tingled through me as I wiped the blood from my nose. This paper bag contained the message of hope and a future since my captives wanted to keep me alive. It was not until later sitting in my squat position listening to the movements and sounds from outside the walls that I would wonder for how long.