White Chalk

They didn't gas her.

Bluejay spun around her jail cell. It didn't look like the jails on t.v.. There was none of that industrial gray siding or those walls of glass, with those sneering guards peering in. The guards seemed indifferent to her. Bluejay wasn't sure that was any better.

They didn't gas her.

Blue sat crosslegged with her feet tucked into her pant legs. The litpol took her sandals. Blue sighed and looked all around. The walls and ceiling was covered in that gray stone. That gray stone that would not give or recieve heat.

They didn't gas her. So they knew about the books. In five years Blue had collected a lot of books. That was an understatement. Blue could have opened her own children's library. She sort of had her own library. If libraries gave up the dewey decimal system and were hidden in the the underground rail road.

They didn't gas her. Bluejay had no doubt they intended to interagate and torture her. Blue had no doubt she would talk. Blue had no tolerance for pain. Once she accidently bit her dentist while he was cleaning her teeth. With his hand still in her mouth Blue had let out a muffled apology. Even though he should of been the one apologizing. It hurt. A lot.

So this was the way it was going to end...waiting to squeal. The only consolation was the fact that she didn't have much to confess.

The worest thing about torture was the boredom. Blue had no idea how much time had passed. There was no clocks. There was one window facing an over exposed hall way. So telling time by the sun was out of it.  It seemed like meal time would be her only indication of time passing. But that was only if they intended to feed her.

Blue occupied her time by looking for patterns and shapes in the stones. The stone seemed to be crumbling. Blue looked at the small rocks and grains of sand. They were white like chalk rocks. Blue slowly smiled. She remembered being six or seven and searching for chalk rocks in the driveway. If you were lucky you would find one that drew long fat lines. Most of them never wrote well. But that never stopped Blue and her friend Cindy. They would take their small bounty and draw in each other's driveways. Afterwards they would always wish for the impossible: immortal life for their drawings.

Blue picked up a fat rock. It felt almost the same as she remembered. It was hard and sharp. The only thing that was missing was the afternoon sun beating down on the hot black tar and making it hard to pick up any rock.

Blue started by doodling pointless things she wrote " Robin was here" and " Peace Out" . Then she drew spirals and cubes. The novelty wore of quickly. Blue sighed and flopped on her back. That's when she noticed the camera. Ofcourse big brother was watching her. His unblinking eye always watching and judging. Blue stared him down and then looked at the chalk rock for too long. She didn't think. She let her anger take hold. Blue was tired of feeling helpless and tired of being made to feel helpless.

Blue took to the chalk and wrote with big bold letters "I AM NOT SORRY" . Bluejay dropped the chalk  noiselessly on the ground and looked at the camera. Let them look into the eyes of the innocent. A second later the jail door slamed open. Blue gulped. If she was going to submit it would be the boldest submission in history. Or at least in her history.

The End

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