Too Much Dry Loaves of Bread

That night, the men locked me up in a dark caravan with no windows, and a bowl of water. Thirsty from the trip, I lapped it up with droplets falling against my skin.

When they settled down for camp that night, I waited to be given a meal, the dingy walls were smelling of mold, and I allowed myself begin to cry at the hopelessness of the situation.

The next morning, they did not bother with a sack, as they carried me whole with the caravan, the motion making me feel queasy. I had hoped for the opportunity to fight, but none were being given to me, and I soon resigned myself to my fate and gave up.

Days turned into an agonizing blur as I remained confined within the dark, cramped space of the caravan. My world had been reduced to the stale scent of bread and the repetitive, bland taste of water. The only sounds that reached me were the creaking of the wagon and the occasional dampened voices of my captors.

I had still not managed to recognize even a single one of them, and that faili