The Accused
                                  
[a short story - by   ~a burning woman~   Sha'Tara]

A black hood is pulled over her head and tied around her neck. 
She is propelled into the interrogation room down a flight of four cement steps to fall blindly against a metal table leg. 
Grabbed from behind, she is roughly pulled up and her wrists shackled to a bar above her head. 
Through the torn blouse and knee length skirt her flesh shows deep bruising and bloody cuts.
She hangs motionless . 
Silent.

The interrogator's voice is harsh, cutting

"You are accused of heresy.  How do you plead?"

No answer.

"You must answer me."

No answer.

"Make her talk."

Torture.  Moans.  Gagging.  A scream escapes the hooded prisoner's lips.

"Stop!" 

Silence.

"Are you a heretic?"

No answer.

"Again I ask: Are you a heretic?"

A sigh but no answer.

"Make her talk."

More torture.  More screams. 
No pleading for mercy.

They tie her ankles to keep her from kicking. 
Blood drips down her legs and bare feet;
falls to pool on the cement floor that has accumulated same on many previous occasions.

"Stop!"

"You are accused of sedition against the State.  How do you plead?"

Short gasps, moaning. 
No audible word.

"Answer me!"

No answer.

"Make her talk!"

Scream!  Scream!  Long, piercing blood-curdling scream... loud moan and silence.

"Stop!"

The interrogator stands up from his table and walks around to face the woman. 
He looks at her bleeding and shaking form for several seconds.
He unties the hood and pulls it from her head.

"Oh God, no! ... NO!  How can this be!"

"Father,"  whispers the girl through her broken face. 
"You assured me you never tortured prisoners. 
I had to know if you were lying to me. 
At least I am not dying in ignorance. 
I forgive you..."

Her head drops forward.

"Unshackle her.  Get an ambulance here -- now!"

Attending physician:  "It's too late sir.  She is dead."