(Marcus)
Two weeks passed. I stopped keeping track of the days at first, but the bruises told me how long it had been. I had thought the first week was bad. The second broke something inside me.
Every day they came for me. Not always the same men, but always someone. It started with shoves. Then it was fists. They hit me in the ribs, my face, my back. I learned to stay quiet. Talking only made it worse. The guards looked away. Some even smiled.
The first time they knocked me down I tried to fight back. It did not matter. I was weaker. I had no friends. They knocked me down again and again until I stayed there. After that I stopped trying. I let it happen.
My body changed fast. My arms were thin. My face was swollen. I touched my skin and felt cuts and bruises under my fingers. My cloth
