She didn't like the dark. It was dark.
The bars grated against her raw skin as she tried to stand. Her cage was too small, too dark. Around her were cries from her inmates, wounded and dying.
The lights flashed on, and the Door opened, and a family paraded past us. The little girl, five years old, crept up to the bars and examined us.
She pointed at one inmate, "That one, Daddy!" The warden bent down at the father's nod, inserting The Key, and taking out a lucky scruffy spaniel. The family left the rest behind, in the dark.