A Room of One's Own in Iran
j. d. daniels
Tapas Winner
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction
     ~ Virginia Woolf

All these years I’d made a living at my writing.  “Tap the key with definition,” my journalism prof had said.  “There’s magic in those keys. You can make a difference as a writer.  Never forget:  Truth has wings.” 

Shackled, pain encircling my ankles, I gazed at the gray brick towers on either side of the electric gate, at the barbed wire wrapped around a buzzing, sizzling fence.  Glittering metal as far as I could see.  I closed my eyes, but the brightness of the sun shining on metal did not go away.

Stripped searched. Photographed and finger-printed.  Interrogated mercilessly. Taken to a dark cell where I would be quarantined for I knew not how long.

Stretching out on the cot in the cold, stone-walled room, I put my hands behind my head and stared at the water-stained ceiling.

Ah, Virginia, Virginia…Am I ready now?

First published: May, 2013
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