The first light of dawn filtered weakly through the fabric of the tent, casting everything in a dull, gray hue. Around him, the others were beginning to stir, groaning and grumbling as they too woke up to face another day of forced labor. David didn't want to get up. His body felt like it was made of lead, but worse than the physical exhaustion was the weight in his chest- the suffocating hopelessness that gnawed at his heart.
He rubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the grime that seemed permanently etched into his skin. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of these men. They were all broken in their own ways, but showing weakness- crying- was a sure way to invite mockery or worse. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to push the despair down.
But it was hard. So damn hard.
