Читать книгу The Interrogation - Michael Bazzett - Страница 9

Cruelty

Then you walk into a sodden field.

It is early and smells of rain and pine.

You sense sun beyond the thin clouds.

The earth mushes beneath each footfall

and buried twigs snap beneath your soles.

Soon you are standing before a fence

made of two strands of rusted wire.

Tufts of hair are caught on its barbs,

lifting in the wind like animals.

Beyond the fence is a blank fog.

You cannot quite make out those

gathered in the whiteness beyond.

You hear only the clink of cutlery

and a child crying. There will

be no gunfire, no serrated light.

The cold will be enough, as always.