She sits on the hard wooden chair, murmuring softly to herself. She has been dried and dressed in warm clothes, but she hasn’t noticed. A bruise, shockingly dark against her alabaster skin, runs along her cheekbone where one of the nurses hit her with a broom handle.

She had clung to her sanity for weeks. Mentally steeling herself against the pain and humiliation when they beat her with the broom handle and jumped on her body. Fortifying her mind against the horror of being restrained using a straight jacket and left in a dark isolated cell for up to forty eight hours.

Continue reading at Roberta Writes