Independent Writing for World Literature

“How much more of this must we endure Gerald?” Henry said in a high-pitched whimper; tears were streaming down his unshaved cheeks and swollen neck.  His naked torso was shredded and covered in blood from the most recent lashing. Gerald exhaled icily, fighting back a scream, his nose filled with the smell of his brother’s blood and the stench of death.  He was surrounded with the wailing of Men, women and children in pain and anguish, separated from their families.  He exhaled again.  “A few more days of this hell and we’ll both be dead,” he said in a submissive shaky voice, indicating the realization of defeat and succumbing to despair.  Gerald couldn’t take it much longer; sometimes he wished death would come and take him.  He arose and staggered in no distinct direction in the complete darkness of the filthy stall, finally finding his brother on the other side, grabbed him by the arms tenderly, careful not to hurt his wounds, pulling him gently towards his clothed chest.  Henry’s tension immediately eased and his muscles became weak as he willingly fell in his beloved brother’s arms.  Henry loved his brother Gerald dearly.  Gerald always knew how to succor people; especially Henry.  He had the rare ability to be unconditionally kind and loving, like a mother with a sick child, or a loyal dog with a small child.  Gerald started ruffling his hair and he relaxed even more; mind retracing to the past.