The Shawl

            She sucked it drier than the desert, all she could think about was the child’s body twisting and turning arms zigzagging this way and that. The image haunted her, scared her, and burned down into her very soul. She knew the day of Magda’s death was near, but never could she have dreamt of the horror of watching it so helplessly and being only to watch. She still sucked on the shawl that once held her precious Magda, and soon fell asleep with the nightmare replaying through her head repeatedly.

            Rosa was soon awoken by Stella, who distraughtly gazed upon her friend. She said nothing to Rosa, but knew all that had happened just from the look on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, there was nothing to say. Stella knew that when she stole the shawl from Magda that it could lead to something like this, but she did it nonetheless. Stella knew that Rosa was better off this way, they all were. They no longer had a child to worry about crying, a child to worry about feeding, or a child to be a weight upon them.

    Stella helped Rosa up as they walked across the dirty floor. They walked together arm in arm until they reached the door that led to the arena. The arena where they suffered for hours every day gathering together, the dreaded arena by all, the arena where Magda died. If they went in, they would shoot, if they ran they would shoot.  The two friends looked at each other, nodded, and entered the arena.

By: Andrew Breese