A soft light pours through the window; although the shadow of the metal bars are still cast onto the floor, I find the view beautiful. It has been so long since I've been allowed to go outside, so I treasure every opportunity I get to see that light.
It serves as a reminder to me. Even in the darkest situations, there's always a little glimmer of hope, or in this case, light. It has been hard to believe in such hope, seeing as I've been here for over half a year, but ever since I've met her, it seems as if my entire world has been transformed; she is my hope.
The buzzer calls for the morning meal, so I walk across the short, dingy cell, ready to be handed the tray of what the law calls "food".
As I eat, the Rules of Wives and Women are played on the speakers.
"Be soft spoken, men don't like loud women"
"Keep your hair long, boys like it that way"
"You don't need a job, the only job you should have is to cook and clean for your husband"
That is exactly what I did not do; however, it did not come without consequences.
I tried to be a good wife. I tried to be respectful, soft spoken, and nice, but it's kind of hard to be that for a person who sees you as nothing more than an object.
Apparently I "wasn't fulfilling my wifely duties", so I was sent here to learn discipline and "how to be a lady".
Little do they know, you can't teach someone to become an object, you can only break them into being one.
I know that women aren't supposed to be treated like this, it's just that society drills it into our brains that we're supposed to be submissive to our husbands and be the ideal wife.
Well, I guess I wasn't.
About to put the tray into the door slot, I see who is taking up the trays.
It's her.
As always, she keeps her beautiful ebony hair up in her hat, and covers her body up with a janitor's uniform, fooling almost everybody.
But not me.
As I push the tray into the slot, her glove-covered hand darts through the opening with a small slip of paper between her fingers.
Quickly pulling it from in between her fingers, I look up, only to find the spot where she once was empty. I unfold the piece of paper only to find one word written on it in rushed handwritting:
Tomorrow
