Nia

The tray scraped against the concrete floor as it slid through the narrow opening at the bottom of the door. The sound echoed in the cell, bouncing against the bare walls until it reached me where I sat curled on the thin mattress. I didn’t move at first. Hunger clawed at my stomach, sharp and unrelenting, but I’d grown cautious. Food here was never just food.

Sometimes it was cold rice, sometimes bread gone stale, sometimes a watery soup that tasted like nothing. But ...