Ahmed, the jihadist, was brought into a small, well-lit room.
The brick walls were painted white and the floor was
gray concrete. It was easy to clean and disguised any
bodily fluids that might have been missed. The room had
no ceiling, just a metal grille. Ahmed noticed that the
words “Fuck Islam” had been tattooed across the knuckles of
the guard’s hands. It was here that Ahmed felt strongest.
As long as he could remember, he had been able
to remove himself from his immediate environment, shutting off the
bleak outside world by focusing on a self-created inner one.
Paraphrases from the novel Dirty Little Secret by Jon Stock.