Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758

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Surrounded by the height of hundred-year-old oak trees, a group of women gathered by the creek, chatting quietly, cautiously beyond prying eyes. Some words could not be shared—these thoughts were better told through subtle gestures—a code only they knew. Too often, guards stood closely by. The women couldn’t afford to step out of line.

They drowned blankets and clothing—a white foam cleansing blood and unsavory stains. Flat stones covered in soaked fabric. A large woman with a paddle pressed the water from the balled up material. The others hung the damp cloth along a clothesline.

“I’m going for it. I’m done,” she said, her nervous eyes darting between the row of sheets—just a harmless peek toward the top of the ridge. Four guards posted atop its edge, pacing amongst the trees, mostly watching over the women. Only occasionally did their faces turn.

“They’ll kill you,” another woman reminded her.

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