Sta.sh
All I asked was for a single glass of water. A glass, a cup, an ounce, a single drop would be enough. I knew you could see me dying there, my body draining itself of whatever resources were left, I know you heard me crying in the night, wasting precious tears in the hope of a little mercy. I licked them away as they fell as best as I could. I couldn't afford to waste them. It was a wonder I could produce tears at all, and there came a day when they finally stopped.
And I thought you had broke, when you came to me in the day, when the sun stole what little I tried to preserve. You held the thing I craved, you held life as far as I was concerned, and I drank without thinking, and you watched as I threw it up and convulsed. You tipped over a bucket of rainwater and watched me lap it up from the floor like a dog.
I asked for food. A crust, a crumb, anything to end the pain in my stomach. You gave me meat, stinking and crawling with maggots. You gave me bread hard as stone, my feeble bite barely chipped the crust. You watched as I finally caved, picking maggots from the meat (I knew they would be safer), soaking water as best as I could into the loaf, praying it would soften and you would too. You gave me cleaner meat the next time, the bloodied hand of the latest prisoner to die, and watched as I broke the taboo, even breaking the bones for marrow.
And I asked, I asked for death. I begged with you, I pleaded, I wanted you to kill me any way you wished, as painfully as you wanted, as long as I died, I would not care. I was yours. You gave me thirst when I asked for drink, gave me starvation when I asked for food.
And when I thought you came to end my pain, you did not. I was in no condition to protest, having starved myself in the hopes I would die on my own terms. You took me, you forced me to eat and drink, you made me live.
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