Cold & Lonely Place
3 A.M in the stocks is a cold and lonely place. A place of suffering. Too cold to sleep. Too hungry to eat. Nothing to drink. At the mercy of the elements – and anyone who happens along. Like this Gynarchy nurse on her way home at the end of a long night shift. She has a warming cup of coffee – for herself. Being a nurse, she could alleviate my pain – massage my aching neck muscles; tend to my smarting whip wounds; administer pain killers. But she doesn’t. She has been helping others all day, and now she is off duty. Indeed, she has come to gloat; to revel in a prisoner-slave’s pain and suffering.
She laughs at me as she sips her coffee. Her only act of ‘compassion’ is to have me kiss her feet. Her sneaker warms my lips, just as the semi-secret sight of her short, black sneaker-sock warms the cockles of my heart. I wish she could stay longer – for all her wanton cruelty. But she needs to get home to the warmth and comfort of her bed. She’s tired and needs to sleep. As do I. But sleep, for me, is an impossibility – not when I am in such pain.
When she is ready to leave, she casually drops her used coffee cup onto the ground next to me – out of reach, but empty in any case. She then turns and walks away from me, ready for her bed.
