Abigail Ketner: Branded

“Yes. I understand,” I whisper.

We walk for what feels like an eternity and my feet throb. I’m not sure I can make it much farther. Stupid slippers. What I’d give to have my sneakers back. I gaze upward, and the bright azure sky makes a striking comparison to life below. I didn’t know conditions like this existed.

“See the building over there?” he says as he runs his hand over his head to wipe away the sweat. “That’s your new home.”

He opens a door in a fence interlaced with barbed wire. People lounge around outside, staring as he leads me in. The citizens outside the building look fairly normal despite their brandings, but I’m still wary of looking at them too long. They banter with each other while negotiating over a bag of what looks like trash.

Cigarette smoke burns my eyes. Squinting, I follow Cole through the courtyard and into the building.

Yellow paint chips off the rough-textured wall. It smells like mold, mildew, and stinky feet. A dead body lies propped against the wall inside the doorway. The man’s clothing hangs in tatters, and the bright red tattoo on his neck sags from years of malnutrition. My hand moves to cover my nose and mouth as I gurgle on bile. Before I can look away, a maggot squirms out of his nose.

“Oh my—”

“Get used to it.” Cole shrugs his shoulder.

I’ll never get used to that.

He cracks his knuckles and keeps walking. I’m pretty sure I hit my threshold for gore and my stomach lurches.

The walls, floors, and ceilings are black except for a few remaining yellow splotches. Cole flips on a flashlight and the dim light focuses briefly on a rat as it crawls across our path. I clench my jaw and feel ahead with my hands, guessing where to step next.

“Why is it dark?” I ask.

“Shhhh.”

I hate the dark.

The doors are numbered but completely out of order. My breaths echo in the hallway and I feel like a glass vase falling to the concrete floor about to shatter.

One.

Two.

Three flights. Good. I’m afraid of heights.

One.

Two doors to the right #91116.

Cole unlocks the door, which creaks on its hinges, and gestures me to follow. The darkness prompts him to tug on the delicate chain in the center of the cell. The light intermittently reveals the stacked cinder-block walls that make up my small room. I lean against the door to catch my breath when a spider drops in front of my face, forcing a blood-curdling scream from my lungs.

He slaps his hand over my mouth. “Stop it! Just because you’re behind a locked door doesn’t mean you’re safe.” He pulls his hand away and lowers it to his side.

I nod, fearful of his touch, but more afraid of my new neighbors. He steps back and smashes the spider between his hands.

Breathe, just breathe.

The musty smell makes me cough.

A thin mattress lies in the right corner, nearest to me, but no other furniture exists. A surveillance camera is mounted next to a metal doorway. Rodent droppings line the wall along the left side, and just the thought of their feet skittering over me at night gives me chills. Waves of heat roll over my body and I teeter, accidentally touching the filthy wall. I pull my hand away to discover a thick layer of grime.

“That’s your bathroom,” he says, pointing at the curtain alongside the back right corner. I pull it aside and find a cracked porcelain toilet with a matching sink. The rusted showerhead dangles from the wall, framed in black mold.

Perfect, I can shower and use the restroom at the same time.

“Really, the commander shouldn’t have been so generous.” Bitterness drips from my laugh. I know I shouldn’t mock anything right now, especially in his company, but I feel so overwhelmed I’ve lost the ability to be rational. Cole remains quiet, but something like mischief plays in his eyes.

“Are you hungry?” He sounds concerned, but maybe my mind is beginning to play tricks on me.

“No, not at all.”

“You should eat when it’s offered. Most people have to scrounge for it, so consider yourself lucky,” he says as he crosses the room.

“I’m far from lucky.” I collapse on the scrawny mattress and let my hair explode out of my ponytail. My body aches. I pull my pant legs up to inspect the scrapes while kicking off the thin slippers. “You can leave now.” My fingers scratch at the dry blood; then I lie back on my mattress.

“That’s not gonna happen. For the next forty-eight hours you’re on suicide watch.”

He’s too close to me, so I sit upright. “What?”

“I can’t leave you alone,” he says.

“As if coming here isn’t bad enough. I’m already on the camera, so what difference does it make? And why do they care if I die?” I say directly into the camera.

He throws his bag into the corner of the room and takes off his boots.

“And don’t worry. I have no desire to touch you, so don’t get your panties all twisted.” He stands across from me with his arms folded over his chest. I really wish I had something to throw at him.

“What I’d really like is a shower. Would you mind leaving me alone for that?”

“Yes,” he says. “Actually, I do mind. Orders are orders.”

Man, this guy is full of himself. They’re purposely torturing me.

He opens the metal door on the right side of my quarters to an adjoining room. He flicks on two lights which cast their brightness into my space. I lean forward from my mattress and attempt to peek inside, but he leaves the door cracked only a few inches. It looks very simple, but much cleaner than my quarters.

“Is that your room?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says while looking around the corner at me. My discomfort hits an all-time high.

This crosses the line. Placing my head in my hands, I shake it with disbelief.

“What’s your problem?” he asks.

I give him a skeptical look. “Nothing.”

“Be thankful you aren’t on the street where you belong.” His harsh tone sends prickles up my spine.

He thinks I’m a whore, too.

As I wallow in pity, I notice a stray ribbon of sunlight peeking through a window next to the bathroom in my room. Eager for natural light and wanting to see outside, I pull the dusty blinds away and use my forearm to clear a small circle in the filth. From here, I can see people loitering around the building and women standing on the corner two blocks down.

“Are the women on the corner prostitutes?” I read about it before but never thought it existed until I arrived.

“Yes. That’s their job.” He picks at a fingernail, standing in the doorway with the door cracked, like it’s not a big deal.

“That’s terrible. Do they get paid?”

“In a way. You’re lucky you weren’t chosen for that detail.”

“I’m not sure luck exists here.” I push away from the window. My body trembles from all the emotions of today, and I need rest.

“Tomorrow we’ll go over all the details and I’ll show you around,” he says. “You should clean up and try to rest.”

I nod, unable to speak.

At his suggestion, I venture over to my metal sink. I pull the dirty curtain aside and turn on the faucet. After a high-pitched screeching noise that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard, cold water spills out, and it’s the best feeling I’ve had in days. I splash my face, my cuts, and my neck and then furiously wash my arms.

I glance at the small, cracked mirror mounted above the sink and see a stranger. My hair flies around in an untamed mess, and the soot from the street makes my face unrecognizable except for the turquoise of my eyes. Blood and dirt form a thick paste on my skin, so I scrub it raw. When finished, I wipe my hands on my clothes. I turn and catch Cole watching.