#flashcomp Winner: White Lies
by Rebecca Emin
“Seems like yesterday,” I whisper, adjusting my hat to block the sun’s glare.
As the shadow crosses my eyes, the graffiti disappears, and I spot the armed guards on patrol, the impenetrable fence and the razor wire on the top of every surface. I smell wood smoke and something else. Fear.
Perhaps this trip would not rid me of the nightmares after all.
My daughter squeezes my arm and whispers, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Three years spent at university filling her head with psychobabble, and now she wants me to burden her with everything; the capture, the binds that dug into my naked flesh, the torture.
“I need some sunscreen,” I say as I rub my wrist, remembering how I bled as the ropes wore my skin away. A flashback to Roy’s eyes rolling back, his body thudding to the floor as they slit his throat.
She exhales. “Come on then,” she says, defeated.
“I don’t remember anything, you know,” I say as we return to the car.
She gives me a sharp look.
Uncrossing my fingers, I have one final backward glance.