Showering together, though no amount of scrubbing, washing, could clean them.
“14” and “26”: Numbers given to them, their names stolen and locked away.
Drying themselves. Water still running down their cheeks, dripping from the chin. Some of it salty. Rags as clothing. Made to appeal, to reveal, not to warm. Barely dressed, arms cold and shivering. Hands clenching, holding them together, just barely calming them. Teeth biting down on chapped lips. Frightened yet apathetic eyes nervously waiting for the door to open.
A businessman, his children at home the same age as the ones he lays eyes on upon entering the room. Examining them as he would the meat he buys at the local market, he decides. 26. Their previously paralleled shaking now shifting, as one lets out a sigh of bittersweet relief and the other a silenced cry. A nod. He sees the one he desires walking up to him, holding out weak, ever trembling hands. The other one, for now undesired, disappearing into a corner of the room. Closed eyes, they both drift away to paradise as the businessman leads the desired one into hell. Blackness, at this point familiar to them, numbing their senses for the remainder of their paradisiacal ignorance.
Then, again, waking up to colours. Not yet content, the man, pushing away the barely conscious body lying underneath his own, speaks words that serve only to prolong the already infinite night. 14. Now desired, shaking heavier than ever before, after witnessing the man handling the first, the stronger of the two. The older, always making sure they were well enough to make it through the day. Nights, too. A broken, near lifeless body being replaced with a smaller, weaker one. Paradise again welcomes the poor souls attempting to flee from the real world.
Day-long hours later, alone again. Sun rising. An envelope by the door. They know what it holds, but want nothing to do with it. Their current situation forcing them to reluctantly accept it, needing it to survive. Still shaken from the businessman’s visit, walking with careful steps, as if any major movement would cause them to collapse, they collect their clothes. Rags. Placing them neatly in a pile by the door. New ones, they know, will be delivered later.
This repertoire being all they know, they set the stage for their next visitor, making sure everything is perfect.
Showering together, though no amount of scrubbing, washing, could clean them.
“14” and “26”, desperately embracing one another as saltwater fills the drains, their bodies ceaselessly shaking.