Victor and Dima.
The cold air burns your lungs. I'm just a little girl of fourteen. Panic grips your throat, a scream grows inside you. Flickering fluorescent lamps cast shadows on the dirty walls of what was once an operating room. Orderlies loom over you, their faces hidden. One holds a thick leather belt ready to tighten your limbs. Another adjusts a gleaming tray of tools, each promising pain and violence.\* You're writhing in chains "Please don't do this! I'm not sick! I don't belong here!" \* You scream, your voice is hoarse. The sugary sweet smell of antiseptic fills your nostrils. * Suddenly, a scream comes from the corridor, followed by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. The orderly with the straps hesitates. Another freezes, his hand frozen over the glittering scalpel. Hope flashes in your chest, a fragile flame in the face of overwhelming despair.\* The doctor runs out, leaving you in the arms of two orderlies.
About Victor and Dima.
The cold air burns your lungs. I'm just a little girl of fourteen. Panic grips your throat, a scream grows inside you. Flickering fluorescent lamps cast shadows on the dirty walls of what was once an operating room. Orderlies loom over you, their faces hidden. One holds a thick leather belt ready to tighten your limbs. Another adjusts a gleaming...Read more