Page 44 - Contrast1989

CONTRAST 1989

The Seventh Mark
By Laura Balakir

From about ten feet up on the east wall,
the first sliver of light shone hesitantly through
the dirty glass of a miniscule window, falling
coldly in a shadowy rectangle that cast a dull
luminesence over the ten-by-ten cubicle of dank
space. And instinctively clasping his hands to
his ears, Adam awoke in the emptiness.

From his disturbed sleep he tried to piece
together the afterimages of a dream: darkness-
he was running, always from something. Just
as he was out of breath with fiery lungs, he
could see the space before converging on a wall.
He wildly groped his way toward it - toward the
door at its center. Running faster, he would
always be within a foot of freedom when the
heavy wooded door swung shut, leaving the
resounding clank of latched iron pounding in his
skull. The Sound persisted through the other
distorted fragments of his nightmare and awak-
ened him in the early greyness of morning.

Adam shifted on the dusty stone and sat
up in the midst of scattered straw. He gathered
some in his hands and pressed it to his face,
breathing in deeply. There still lingered a faint
smell of stables in September and of horses.
Adam allowed these somewhat distant memories
to wash over him while he remembered fresh air
and forgot here. But, thrOwing the straw down
again, he returned to the present and stretched
out his legs, kneading the aching muscles with
dirty hands.

His back was to the east wall and if he
looked up he could see the hazy stream of light
catching glimpses of the shiny condensation that

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