Inklings 2020

LATCHED Lucia Rose Dahn A finger flips a switch behind me, and a hum fills the room. Two pairs of black boots slide across the floor, stirring up dirt with each step. As I glance down, I see my arms chained to two iron posts attached to the dingy walls. One of the figures pulls out a cigarette and lights it; its spark is enough to illuminate the abandoned room. The smoke travels through the cold air to my face, and I close my eyes, hoping for it to disappear. The figures whisper words to each other that I can hardly understand. Seconds later, there is a pull on my hair that makes me wince and sends my head crashing onto the back of my chair. My head burns as I realize a mask is attached to my face. The cigarette smoke and dust are the last images in my mind. A desire to pull off the mask arises, but I can tell it has become my second skin. It covers my eyes and slides over my nose, clouding my ability to breathe. It continues around mymouth and downmy chin to the base of my neck. I feel the figures coming closer as their boots stomp on the ground. I can hear their heavy breathing. Suddenly, the chains on my arms release and the iron cylinders crash to the ground with a thud. My arms fall, heavy and limp. “Get up!” one of the voices shouts. I look at the face, forgetting that I am blind from the mask. “Hello?” My vision is pure black and my body is stiff. I try to move but feel tethered at my legs. I stumble forward and scream, my voice more powerful than ever. The water continues to slosh and the cold air in the room travels quickly. I cannot seem to free myself from the latches or the mask; I cannot even flinch. Then I remember what happened before: “Sydney, don’t move,” my mother said when the campfire illuminated the ground around us. A ladybug landed on my arm, a butterfly on my shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” she promised, walking away into the dark night. Time 32