The Uncaged Sky: My 804 Days in an Iranian Prison

Kylie Moore-Gilbert

I STARE AT THE wall inches in front of my face. Someone has
scrawled something on it in ballpoint. e air-conditioning unit
whirs noisily above my head and I shiver despite my layers of
clothing. Over my shoulder, a man is making a speech in Farsi;
there is aggression in his voice. He seems to be addressing me,
although I have no idea what he is saying. I hear the muttering of
other men, the creaking of chairs, heavy breathing. e man is
shouting now, but the beat of my own heart is so loud that all his
words are drowned out.