She was exhausted. This had been her thought for two days now. She wanted badly to return home, hug her son tight, go to sleep with her face buried in the pillow and wake to the sound of birds chirping outside her window, like always. But she couldn’t. They held her captive. She raised her right hand slowly and touched her face. There were tears on her cheeks. They had been flowing freely since they took her. She didn’t notice anymore. Her fingers moved to her lips and she winced. They were broken. She didn’t know how. They said she had a demon inside of her, that her soul was dark and hungry. But that was her fault. She brought this to herself the minute she stepped foot inside that church. She wasn’t religious. Her sister had nagged so much she decided to oblige her. It was a trap. It had to be. How could they say she hurt her son? She loved her baby. She would kill for him. She paused. They had used that word the day they brought her here; kill. They also said she was a danger to herself and to people around her. Was it the police? She had followed her sister to church, right? She shook her head to clear her fogged memory. Was her baby boy dead? No, he couldn’t be. They all lied. He just hadn’t come to see her yet. “But he is, you murderer. You killed him with your bare hands,” the voice whispered into her ears. Her head snapped up. She looked around but saw no one. “Leave me alone! ” she screamed in return.
My entry to @vermillionfox's flash fiction contest. Image is from the original post.