Treharne O'Grady

The Unspoken Language

The days bound in ash and sweat, braced with fear and revulsion. I feel the pressure braided, like rope and knots, caught in my throat. Fell creatures of night, men, and the shudder of their touch on my skin has become poison. Sjana paced the landscape outside of her bedroom window, scanning every inch with her sage colored eyes. In her lap, a notebook, on which a white fountain pen scribbled unconsciously. She wouldn’t let herself think, nor would she listen to the pounding in her mind. The memories she had left behind, locked far away.