I didn’t want to move.  I wanted to wait.  I wanted to know what was outside the little shutter doors before I opened them.  But nothing came.  Anxiety crept heavily through my limbs.  My arms, my legs, they were bruised.  Dark splotches of purple, like India ink, staining my skin.  And a small mark, a puncture, in the crook of my arm.  I was ( Read more... )