I could have dealt with the punishment. I could have lived with myself if they told me to let go of the person I held so close. It would have been alright.

That small infant was the only friend I had. The only real thing in the whole cement block that was put in. She kept me sane as they pinched and prodded and poked. As they tore and pierced and clawed at my soul. I simply rocked her to sleep when the shouts of propaganda filled my ears for weeks on end.

Even though she was my only line to escapism, I could have given her up if it was the only way to save myself and the ones I loved. I would have gone on to see my family and friends who waited for me on the outside with guns constantly pointed at their heads. As soon as I gave the baby to the doctors who visited every week, the guns would leave and I could escape. I debated and finally let her go after months.

That is, until I learned that baby was my sister. The sister I could never know. And I screamed as I was taken to the exit. And I died inside.