What lies beneath the Walnut Tree

She looked up, eyes not quite meeting his gaze. She squinted slightly, uncomfortable beneath the heavy opaqueness of his stare.

No she says.

Move on he says. She moves along.

She scrapes the tray along the metal bars, allowing the plastic and metal to grate in quiet defiance.
Sometimes she looks at the other women. She takes a moment to wonder what is inside them, inside their thoughts. She wonders if their thoughts have dried up like hers.

She inhales. A tinge of bleach hangs lightly in the air, a hint of Scandinavian showroom and the subtle scent of steel.

She stops her tray at the next check point. He sprays it and her belongings glisten under the fluorescent glare. Labelled, they stay behind as she continues. Her mind floats back to quiet conversations long past and she knows what’s coming next. She stands tall with measured breaths and waits.

She lifts the rough edges of the smock above her head and drops it in the box. Sterile she stands in the cool air, her body absorbing the eyes. Listening to the gruff instructions she steps inside the frame.

Iced water shocks her skin, wet hair clings to her neck and still she stands tall. The razored hand begins to work, scraping at her skin, clawing at her body hair. Remnants of mascara trail to her chest.

Her body is checked for impurities, each one found is noted by latex covered hands. The scratching of blunted pencil jars her ears but her face remains impassive.

Water pools quietly behind her as she moves along the line. She lies heavy on the bed, eyes fixed on the steady rotation of the fan above. Her muscles tense as she awaits the cold intrusion of metal. It’s over quickly and her sharp breaths slow.

She sits up slowly and re-joins the line.

You’re ready he says.

Her jaw clenches.

Her feet are heavy but her shoulders are tall.

She descends.