domingo en fuego

the room is windowless. i do not remember arriving. how long i have been here alludes me. the only indication of the passage of time is the regular delivery of meals. i stopped counting after 159.

things have grown worse.

i awake to the shadowy figure standing before me, two objects in his hands. there is only just enough time for my brain to recognise my map and pencil before two arms seize my body and drag me from the blankets.

screams emerge from my chest and echo through the hallway. citizens appear from the doorways but are ushered back to their rooms by other bishops. the hands grip tighter on my skin, a wordless command for silence.

i do not obey.

“don’t let them control you,” i say, “head true-”