Bloomington High School North, Nikean, 2018, Page 127

Description:	There was a silence.Do you have anyone you care about? the man continued.He didnt respond. A moment passed.A father, a wife? the man probed.A mother, Daniel stated. A mother.Did you say goodbye?The boy sat for a moment and looked down at his shackles, Yes. Yes, I did.For a moment the two of them heard footsteps from outside the cell and they both froze to listen. Alert and paranoid, they paid incrediblyclose attention to the sound of the steps. Are they getting closer? Then, after a moment they began to fade away. They calmed and rested moreon the walls of the cell.I have a daughter, the man said. Shes a little younger than you. Shes beautiful.Id imagine, Daniel replied. What did you tell her the last time you saw her?I told her not to watch the execution.Footsteps came close again, and then halted. The two scared again, tensed. The footsteps disappeared and they calmed.Whats your name? Daniel asked.The man smiled, Im Joseph.The boy nodded and then after another moment of silence said, What do you think itll be like?Joseph was dreamy in a way, I imagine itll hurt, he said, the noose, I mean.Yeah, he muttered, but what do you think its like?The mans smile came again, Well, I think life is like breath, you know?Yes.Then, I would imagine death is just like...no breathDaniel nodded one last time, I imagine youre right.The footsteps came this time, but this time the two men did not appear entirely startled. They got louder and louder until at last they reachedthe exterior of the cell. The stone door slid open and the death guard stepped in.the two men offered no resistance.UNTITLED, by Emma OstlundI studied the woman thoughtfully, feeling as if that -was the most logical thing to do when pinioned on a crowdedbus, waiting for a destination that takes a lifetime to get to. Her expression was stiff and bronzed, as if it were a statue.Her body was positioned in the same manner as she stared ahead, unmoving and unphased by the commotion which layrestlessly on the bus. Her eyes were darker than her loose, humidity-touched hair, and her skin held the same complexnature of the simple tones she was adorning.Her profile was all she allowed myself, or anyone else, to see. Though the bus left imprints of its sweat and thesweat of others on my collar, she gracefully wore an attire which hid her fine flesh, further hiding the sweat whichadorned all of us without permission. Baggy clothing aged like wrinkles on her skin. The neckline of which covered mostof the bronze hidden beneath it. She was beautiful, enigmatically sitting only a few meters from me, though her desireswere far beyond my reach.I wondered what thoughts could be locked away in a position so stiff. What past had twisted her spine so; whatpresent could be troubling her-?- What future could link us in a way currently unimaginable^- All I had was the bus and thepresence she made in it. No other information willed itself to me, leaving my mind itching with further intangiblecuriosities.Suddenly, the passenger standing to my left let off a sharp grunt after he had noticed my persistent studying. Thoughhypocrisy was evident in his glare, I still diverted my eyes from the woman in an unexpected, hot shame; the heat ofwhich only aided my perspiration.All it took, however, was one flick of a movement and my eyes drew right back to the once frozen woman. Astretch. That was all it was. A stretch of her once-hidden neck, and I saw it; saw the tattoo which marred her golden skinwith a rebellious luster. In crimson lettering, the word esperanza appeared.I smiled softly to myself, once more finding my eyes falter towards my few belongings. Hope. It meant hope. And itwas forever marked onto her skin, whether its purpose was for reminding or requesting. I held that image close, notdaring to look back at the woman for fear that if I did, the hope would be gone.
Source:	http://cdm17129.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/ref/collection/hs-bloomnorth/id/8726
Collection:	Bloomington High School North

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