|| Amelia ||

All our bodies moving as one. Hundreds of us all being led swiftly down the narrow corridor, handcuffed, bellies empty, but obedient.

I keep up with the tide, matching my stride with the person's in front of me so I don't get swept away. And I should be enjoying this freedom, if you'll call it that.

Except that this isn't really freedom.

I shouldn't have my hands tied together. I don't have the Power, which is something that I'm sure almost everyone else here has. It spreads like fire; some guards have got it in the past and rumour has it that they were made prisoners themselves.

We skirt round the bend into the brightly-lit courtyard. It's just a gravel square which we walk a few times before lining up in rows to be counted. Anyone missing is a bad thing—meals go mysteriously missing for a day if that happens.

When we start our rounds of the quad, people begin to pick up their pace. Some start to run, which is good for them since it's the only bit of exercise we'll be doing for another few hours.

I walk, staying huddled in the group but speed-walking so as not to get shouted at from behind. Everyone hurries to make sure they're not last. Everything here's like a race. You're last? You pay.

The guard calls us in, telling us to hurry. I move with the others, quickly slipping into

an empty place. Ten ordered rows are made, splitting the genders apart. My line spreads all the way out several metres.

I'm in a different place to yesterday and the day before. The people around me are different too. Getting everyone into pre-arranged lines would take too much time, according to guards. And why waste doing that when you already have hundreds of prisoners quaking at your feet?

And so when I scan my eyes across the row of heads in front of me, the back of one stands out.

Well, not exactly. There's nothing peculiar about that black hair running in two long braids. It's the ribbons tied at the end of each that gives the game away.

A few seconds pass before my brain actually registers what I'm seeing.

Angie's head.

Angie right in front of me.

Suddenly, without intention, an animalistic noise arises from the back of my throat, and the guard counting at the front falls silent. He scans our row and my breath hitches to my throat, almost choking me. I should have held my surprise. I can work out how to get to Angie later.

The guard's eyes narrow but he must be in a tremendously good mood because he goes back to his counting.

I can't get my eyes off the back of Angie's head. My eyes stay glued to her red ribbons, the ribbons she always tied into her hair after getting the part in Matilda she wanted ever so much in Year Six.

Oh, how time flies. I'm now in a prison. Yay.

The counting stops. I lift my gaze, on high alert, wondering if someone might have done something to set one of the guards off, but it seems he's only finished his counting.

I swallow, not liking what that means. Going back into my prison cell, a small place that traps me, makes me feel small.

But I can't get across to Angie. Even whispering in this place draws too much attention. Our ears are used to hearing the song of silence and so something disrupting it will certainly make heads turn around. Besides, I do want to eat tonight, even if it's measly slop.

Our lines are dismissed, and I watch Angie go with a tightly closed mouth.

Hi there! Sorry if this was a boring chapter! I'm going away for the half term so won't be able to update next week.

Happy reading! 

Ana xx