While he spoke the other man dropped onto Nara, pinning her to the floor. He sat on her chest, his weight forcing the breath out of her lungs. Handed her notebooks, he proceeded to rip them apart, the pages of neat text, the quotes by Stalin, the lessons taught by Leo Demidov, shredded and falling about her face. With a fistful of paper, he tried to force the fragments into her mouth. She pressed her lips shut. The man responded by lifting himself up from her stomach, relieving the pressure, before dropping back down. As she gasped he shoved the paper inside her mouth, his knuckles on her teeth, filling her mouth. The man standing over them commented:

—You wanted an education…

Nara could not breathe. She scratched at the man’s face. He slapped her hands away, pushing more paper into her mouth. There was so much it was pressing down her throat, causing her to gag. She flailed, helpless, hooking onto her bed-sheets, pulling them down.

Unable to focus, her vision blurring, her hand clasped something – the pen used to write her notes. Gripping it tight, she clicked the nib and swung it at her attacker. It entered his neck. She was weak from the attack but it went deep enough to make him cry out. His hands came loose. Free from his grip, she spat out some of the notes, sucking in a partial breath. Able to see again, her thoughts coming together, her strength returning, she forced the pen in deeper, pushing as hard as she could, feeling his blood run down her hand. He toppled, falling on his side.

Nara stood up in disbelief at her sudden freedom, spitting out the rest of notes. She jumped onto the bed, moving as far away as possible within the confines of the small room. The second man was by his partner’s side. He removed the pen, causing blood to gush. In the ensuing confusion, the man hopelessly trying to stem the bleeding, Nara assessed the distance to the door. She would pass too close to her attackers. Even if she did sneak past she would be caught in the living room, or the stairway. Feeling the cool night breeze on her bare feet she turned around, facing the window. It was her only chance of escape. She stepped onto the ledge, climbing onto the roof.

With no electricity, there was no residual light from the streets. The city was dark, the blackout stretching across the neighbourhood like an oil slick, spreading across the valley and up distant hills, broken only by the flicker of gas lamps and candles. The more expensive properties and the government buildings had diesel generators and they dazzled: ghettoes of brightness.