Cristina Proietti

  • Cristina Proietti

She hadn't slept for days, the crowd beneath her reduced to blurred dots and each face melted into the background of the hot and dusty tent. Individuality did not exist here, not when everyday was the same and five of us shared a room. The ring leader's whip was all that left a distinction, the marks left an individual print on our bodies by which we were identified. Numbers weren't used here - this was a different kind of prison.

Seed by Cristina Proietti. Image by Gordon Gahan.