Chapter 7

Pablo's POV

The work in the kitchen was in full swing in those early hours of dawn.

I had already had my breakfast, separated from the other prisoners, since the agents themselves served the food and guaranteed that we had not put any poison or something worse in the puree mixture. I've never spit on any food I've touched my hand on. I only said that to cause fear and disgust in others, although I wanted a lot, food has always been sacred to me.

I came from a very poor family. My father was a farmer, in fact, he just took care of the place. The owners of the farm were older, and had grown up with my parents, since the whole generation of the family seemed to have been reduced to forced labor in the countryside. My parents were too old, too painful. And they could never control me, but they taught me basic principles and that I still followed, even in a distorted life.

My parents taught me not to get involved in what was none of my business. And I wasn't stuck