Charlotte
The clammy chill of the concrete claws at me...
Anger helps, heating me inside...
But I have to get off the naked ground...
Stretching out against the chain, now fumbling out in the other direction... My swollen stomach won't allow me to lie flat down... I twist...
Then, reaching with my left hand as the metal cuff bites into my right ankle; with the bare tip of my fingernails, I snag the edge of one of the cardboard boxes. It moves only slowly, the contents weighing it down.
What's inside?
I try again, digging in with my nails, trying to bite into the semi-hard surface. I find myself envying the long nails of my 'cousin'; Beth; her hands soft and white, the nails elegant... painted and shaped... sharp...
My stubby excuses-for-nails barely make an imprint on the tough ca
