(North Wing)

"The mighty North wing has fallen," one of the inmates yelled, but even as the cry of a dying man, bounced from one wall to another, the sleeping guards remained oblivious to the sinister happenings within the prison walls.

(West Wing)

Warden Protacio Carbonell sighed before rummaging through the pile of letters which he previously scattered on his office floor. He picked up the one dated February 1977 and began to read.

**"

Dear Maria,

How are you? Had it been seven years since my incarceration? I'm sorry for asking. The days I only count them by the coming and goings of our meals. The pain in my chest kept pulling me into a haze. I can't explain it, or maybe I can. It's an ache. Probably caused by a vicious claw that found shelter in the obvious rifts of my heart.

This pain Maria felt like that day.

But before I begin. Please, if you see any smudges on this letter, I beg you to pay them no mind. They are nothing more but salty liquids from my stubborn eyes. Liquids that must never harm or pain you in any way possible.

When I took my father's life, I immediately packed my bags and wandered the streets of the small town my father and I resided in. I waited at the bus stop for what felt like an eternity. It was dawn you see. So, I guess, it was reasonable to find the streets desolate.

When the sky took on an orange hue and the wind hummed joyfully, joining with the sweet melody of chirping birds, I closed my eyes, until a bus finally stopped in front of me.

I jumped on it, filled with the thoughts of only you. I was about to see you again. Your charcoal hair would finally paint my nights with melancholic hues. Your fair skin would once again brighten my days with a more blinding light than that of the sun. The loving aura around you could finally wash the stains off my tainted hands.

The ride was hellish. Not because it made me sick, but because I saw the road as a barrier, a ripple, a mocking stretch of land that separated me from you. At one point, I was asked by my Co-passengers if I was feeling alright. They said I looked pale, and when they touched me, they said I was burning up. I refused to have them tell the driver because that would mean a glitch in our reunion. I couldn't allow that.

Did you know Maria, I was ready to approach you? I have found the courage to profess my love for you. I was so excited, to the point where I saw the bus stops as a menace, the roadblocks as the devil, and time as an enemy.

All I wanted was to feed my sight with the image of you. To lay my heart at the bottom of your feet. But don't worry Maria, even with those hopes and plans, I would have accepted any reply you would have given me.

I travelled for six days. Took five buses and a boat ride. Finally, on the morning of June 23, 1958, I arrived in the province of San Ignacio. I decided not to take a cab. I needed to walk and stretch my legs. I walked, I walked a total of twenty-five kilometres.

You must be wondering how I managed to do so. It's because, at that time, everything around me felt surreal, enchanting, and ethereal. I kept seeing an image of you walking in front of me, skipping on the ground like the joyful soul I have known you to be.

I know, you're probably thinking, "It was only a year," But Maria, for a heart who had longed in its every waking second to have your presence felt. It was an eternity.

4:45 pm

I took the final curve leading to our small subdivision. I knew people were still searching for my dad. So I allotted time to use a hoody and a thick pair of glasses to hide my identity.

4:50 pm

The familiar playground where you often played the game Catch the Butterfly revealed itself to me.

4:56 pm

The identical rooftops of houses lined horizontally from each other came into view.

5:00 pm

My feet took on faster strides. My heart was jumping with glee. I felt weightless by the amount of happiness that engulfed my core. I kept chanting your name like an idiot. I kept a smile on my face while thinking of your name.

Maria.

Maria.

Maria.

Maria.

"Maria Ventura was raped!" the voice of a man yelled.

I immediately froze. I listened again, hoping the words would not mean what they did.

"Maria Ventura was raped by the electrician!" the voice repeated. Immediately, the roar of high-pitched voices came one after the other. Like a mantra they chanted, "Maria Ventura was raped!"

I felt like my soul was forced out of my body, and the ground below me was suddenly filled with an electrical current that seeped through the soles of my shoes, forcing its way through my toes, and running up my thighs. I felt an immeasurable ache that burned every nerve, crippling every tissue, constricting my muscles until my legs gave way and I fell to the ground. I began to shake. My sight started to blur, with the sound of the world turned off. My ears were tuned to only one word, and that was your name.

"They brought Maria to the clinic. They're waiting for an ambulance," a middle-aged man screamed.

Your name forced me back to life. Despite the sluggish feel of my legs, I took flight. The people around our small neighbourhood gathered in front of the clinic. I heard your mother wail amidst people, speculating and throwing comforting words at her.

I tried to find an opening. I circled the small structure we called a subdivision clinic. Finally, I saw an open window. It was too narrow for me to enter but enough for me to see you lying on a bed. The white linen that used to cover that bed was drenched with your blood. As my eyes followed the crimson-smeared legs resting at the bottom of it, my heart once again felt a wave of electrified substance, ceaselessly, mercilessly, and ominously swimming through my bloodstream. It crept up to my heart, shattering what was left of it. Turned it into ashes as I completely laid eyes on the image of you.

Your white dress was torn from shoulder to waist. Your arms had bruises, your face blotched and smeared with blood. I heard you whimpering. I undoubtedly felt your pain.

I wanted to hug you, tell you that you'll be alright. I wanted to cry, wipe the blood off of you, and whisper that it was just a nightmare.

But Maria, would that have sufficed? It wouldn't!

I couldn't stand it anymore. Despite my heart begging for me to circle back in front of the clinic and scoop you in my arms, I ran away. I ran and cried.

When I finally got to the small stream where you used to catch tadpoles, I fell on my knees and curled into a ball. The ground cradled my body like a hard bed. The stones that nestled on the ground were uncomfortable, punishing and pricking every inch of my body, constantly reminding me of the pain you endured.

I don't know how long I stayed that way. I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke, it was dark. The hooting of owls filled my surroundings. The silent creaking of branches and scurrying animals accompanied me for about an hour before I started to blame God.

Didn't teacher Matilde promise us that God answers with two things but never a no? Didn't she assure us that he would answer with wait and yes, but never a no?

Then why?

Why did he answer my prayers to keep you safe with a no?

It couldn't have been a yes, Maria because you got raped!

It could never have been a wait because it has already happened!

It was a no...! It was a no...!

All the pain I felt slowly turned into anger. And at that moment Maria, I have decided. No one can ever hurt you, ever again.

I stood from the ground. I walked the stretch of water before me and followed its route. It led me to the clearing where you used to practice your cheers.

And so Maria, on the 23rd of June 1958, I sold my soul to the devil. If I had to shed blood over and over to keep you away from harm, I would.

If I had to walk the fires of hell to give you a brighter path, I would.

If I had to break a piece of me to make you whole, I would.

I'm sorry Maria, please let me end it here for now.

Hi Maria, Merry Christmas! I hope my letter did not upset you. Don't worry. Those things have passed. My ache, too, shall pass.

Love Forever

Your Silent Knight.