The HostelDawn, and the summer sun struck a glancing blow on the shutters of the north-eastern wall, pouring radiant orange on my face. I squinted into the blinding bands of light, ventured a raised arm to shade my eyes, then eased myself onto my side to stare into the dimness of the cell. The lacerations on my back from the flogging I received the day before – swollen and weeping, the blood dried and crusted – stung with every move I made.
A flogging for what reason? There was no reason, none that was justified. The guard had blamed me for the sun being too hot. That was not the truth but what difference would it make if it was. I was flogged because I stepped between a guard and a wizened wretch of a prisoner too weak to lift the rock he had split. Part of me wished I hadn't, but I saw
