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Creative Writing: El Salvadoran Prison

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The following day, she awoke on the mattress in their apartment, wondering how she ended up there. Her neighbor with the gelled back hair entered the room with a glass of tea.
“When they called, I knew you were probably lost,” he said. “Glad that man kept you from going inside the building. How are you feeling, this morning?” His English was impeccable, and she was curious why he had always spoken Spanish to her, before.
“I’ve been wondering how I got to our apartment. And what happened to Stalin?”
“After he called me, and I drove there, I found you lying on the ground, with a street worker trying to pour water over you, to cool you down.”
“I passed out?”
“Um hmm.”
“What about Stalin?”
“Oh! He is being held there for investigation. It …show more content…

His name is Stalin Perralta and he is a citizen of El Salvador. I have contacted the Salvadoran Consulate.”
The line went dead.
She called again but as soon as she asked for the Director, the person on the other end hung up, again.
“You need to contact the UNHRC and speak to someone who can contact the Salvadoran Embassy,” her neighbor told her. “It looks like they may be detaining your husband, illegally.”
An hour later, as she sat on the couch, immersed in her tears, she received a knock at the door. When she opened it, two men dragged her outside and threw her in the back of a van.

When they arrived at the immigration office in Managua, the men grasped her arms on either side and led Marci across the gravel parking lot, through the door and into an office. There, she was told to empty her pockets and was searched and was held there for a while. After about an hour, they moved her to a room where her eyes adjusted to darkness - a room about thirty square feet, lined with about a dozen bunk beds and a floor covered with women.
Every time they appeared before her, she asked why she was being held.
“Your passaporte was stamped on the wrong page. We have to detain …show more content…

Damn it! How could she have been so stupid? Stalin hadn’t brought her to Nicaragua for love. He needed her money.
That night she cried herself to sleep.

Damn it!! If they were going to kill her, why not just do it? After a month, her pants were falling off her hips. Had she lost that much weight? Days of eating spoon sized portions of Gallo Pinto with thick, corn tortillas had shed the pounds, quickly. Her extremities throbbed, from dehydration.
By December, the detention center was filled with over thirty women from all over the world, all guarded by female custodians. As the FSLN continued to manipulate the judiciary, the guards called less and less names for release. She was losing hope.
Then, one day, her name was called and she was certain she was about to be released. They escorted her out to a van as she shielded her eyes from the bright sun. After a month of existing in a dark cell, the light was too much and she was blinded by the light.
She was driven to a house, with an armed guard stationed outside and led to an attached room. And her torture

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