RCA In-House, Series

Redemption

Prison Redemption
By Cynthia Ayeza, Uganda:

I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped out. The air…the atmosphere around me changed. It seemed different. Colder. I felt a chill run through my body. I clung to my baby a little tighter – could I give her any more protection than our current predicament?

I should head back in and wait until the sun comes up. It would be safer.

I heard the door click behind me, and a buckle as the bolt was fastened with a padlock. I turn to push the button now behind my head hoping that Patrick would open the door, a sudden fear gripping my heart. My every sense seemed more alert than usual. The air tasted of pain, the night rang with a deadly silence, my eyes perceived the demonic but more than all those, I felt like I could almost touch the inevitable evil that brought chills to my body –  a kind of death waiting to happen.

I did not see it coming but I felt it… a swift blow that spun me about and then I could no longer see the stars of the night.

When I woke, Patrick was looking over me with both concern and irritation. He looked inconvenienced.

Wha…what happened? I asked weakly.

Where is the baby? He asked back, even more concerned.

The baby…the baby… where is my baby? Suddenly becoming aware of my surroundings, and beginning to remember bits of my life.

Do you remember what happened? Patrick pressed.

No…not really. After you closed the door, I sensed danger but did not have time to ring the bell,

I said.

Did you see the person who hit you? Agitated, he pressed on.

No. It was too dark… I said. Anger began to rise within me. This was Patrick's fault; how could he even feign concern when he sent us out in the dark in the first place?

I tried to get up but could not. Nothing could move…except my eyes, my mouth…and I could breathe but I could not feel anything else. I could not move my hands, not even a finger. I tried…to move my legs, nothing. It does not make sense.

What's happening to me? I asked, alarmed.

What do you mean? Patrick responded.

I cannot feel my legs or arms or anything, I said.

Of course you can, he said indifferently.

Patrick! I said, I cannot move my legs and arms. I cannot feel my body! My slightly raised, but matter of fact tone seemed to get through to him.

At this, Patrick then reached for his cell phone and called his doctor. The last thing I heard was, “she cannot move or feel her body” before drifting darkness.

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