FIFTY-SEVEN

One Who Cries First

Lolita’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She felt exhausted, weak and alone. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask that someone dim the bright light that was solely focused on her eyes, but no words escaped her dry, useless tongue. She closed her eyes once more and concentrated on breathing deeply, hoping that with deep breaths, the pain would dissipate by the time she awoke an hour later.

The second time she reopened her eyes, she noticed that the sunlight had softened, though it still lingered, targeting her face at just the right angle. She adjusted her position slightly, shifting her body to avoid its piercing intensity.

“Help,” she croaked out, but the word barely left her lips.

Feeling useless as ever, she tried to sit up. A sharp pain attacked her ribs, almost tearing her apart. Lolita cried and curled into herself on the cold, hard floor.

“Ouuh, she’s awake,” someone said.

Lolita opened her mouth again, hoping to ask for help. No words left, as she expected. Sh