The Little White Bag
The walls of the room were a monotone white. So were the chair and table and the robe she wore. She sat and waited. You always had to wait. She sat rigidly upright and looked straight ahead of her and when the door opened and the doctor came in she stayed like that.
The doctor sat down opposite her and placed a large white folder on the table.
“Good morning, Magdalena.”
Magdalena, was it? They’d have to see about that.
“So, have you managed to remember anything?”
No respondo!
“It’s time to try harder, Magdalena.”
Give her nothing!
“It’s time to try to jog your memory – just a little.”
The doctor opened the folder and took out a little white bag.
“Does this mean anything to you?”
Magdalena allowed her eyes to examine the horribly familiar object.
As the guests had left the wedding some, although not all of them, had been given these little white bags containing sweets and plastic toys. Those who had received such a bag had then been taken to the bottom of the garden and been shot in the back of the head.
She had seen it all.