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She hammered her fists against the metal door, desperate to escape.

‘Let. Me. Out.’

Selima’s voice was still strong, in contrast to her battered body, her assault on the door growing weaker with each pitiful blow. There was no way out of this tomb, the metal door barred shut.

‘Stay calm, stay calm …’

Selima moved away from the door, cradling her throbbing fists, praying that things might still work out OK.

It was fine, everything would be fine. Yes, Leyla was cruel, but she wasn’t mad.

She didn’t really intend to go through with it.

This whole thing was being done for show – to terrify her and warn the others against future rebellion.

If Selima could get through the night, she would be released tomorrow, having paid her dues. She just had to stay strong.

Seating herself on the ash-strewn floor, Selima started to hum to herself, reassuring melodies from her childhood.

Immediately, her mind was drawn back to her hometown, to sun-kissed Sirnak, images of her family filling her thoughts.

Mischievous Azwer, loving Rojan and determined Yezda.

She was blessed to have children who were such a credit to her.

They would grow up to be strong, ambitious, prosperous – all the things she’d never been.

If she’d helped them in some small way by making these sacrifices, by leaving her beloved Turkey to seek work, then maybe, just maybe, it had been worth it.

Yes, this was what she must do. She must focus on hopeful things, positive things, that would get her through the night. Then once morning had come, once she had been released from this awful …

Selima froze, all thoughts of her children suddenly evaporating. Was her mind playing tricks on her, or had she really heard an ominous creaking sound? Her body was rigid, her senses alert and now, to her horror, she heard it again. A long, laboured metallic moan as the machine cranked into life.

Instantly, Selima was on her feet, blundering blindly towards the door once more.

She connected sharply with the metal surface, cannoning backwards, before righting herself and searching for the outline of the door.

Where the hell was it? She thought she’d re-traced her steps but must have become disoriented.

Quickly, she felt her way along the wall, desperately clawing at the metal, as the pitch-black interior began to echo with an insistent banging.

Was it Selima’s imagination or was the temperature already starting to rise?

Panicked, she maintained her progress around the cylindrical contraption, her leading hand now jarring nastily against the frame of the door. Cursing, she sucked her hand, the iron tang of blood bitter on her tongue, but a superficial wound was the least of her worries. She had to get out of here.

The clanking sound had now morphed into a slow, insidious hum, the whole incinerator seeming to throb with deadly purpose.

Finding some purchase at the top of the door, Selima pulled hard at the metal, straining with all her might to bend the lip in her direction.

Even the slightest movement could be enough to shut down the machine, perhaps even to afford her a chance of escape, if she could work on the fissure.

But the hard steel refused to budge, stubbornly resisting her assault.

Sweating profusely now, Selima re-doubled her efforts, the air thick and warm around her.

Screaming out her exhaustion and terror, Selima let go, defeated.

Running her fingers down the side of the door, she found a new handhold, and pressing her foot on the adjacent wall for more leverage, tugged with all her might.

Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds and more she kept up her desperate struggle, but yet again her efforts proved fruitless and she sank to her knees, tears filling her eyes.

This couldn’t be it, could it? Her grand adventure ending in the most barbaric way possible?

The sweat was pouring down her face now, mingling with her tears. She could barely see, her senses felt muffled and blurred, but she had to make one last attempt to escape, for those who loved her, as much as for herself.

‘Please, help me. Someone. Anyone. I don’t want to die …’

She hammered on the door, using her last remaining vestiges of energy to make a noise fit to wake the dead.

‘Save me, please save me. You will be next …’

Still she pounded the metal. In her mind’s eye, she could see the lever lock suddenly rising, the door being thrown open, cool air flooding in … but there was no response from outside, no cavalry riding to her rescue.

‘I have children. They need me. Please help …’

Selima petered out, knowing that all was lost. She would never see her husband again, never lay eyes on her beloved children.

Worse still, they would never know what became of their loving, naive mother, her fate a mystery for the rest of time.

She had hoped to help them, to lift her family from dire poverty, but had achieved nothing save for her own destruction.

It was so hot now that she could scarcely breathe.

Her hair was stuck fast to her scalp and she swayed unsteadily on her knees as the savage waves of heat assaulted her relentlessly.

Any second now she would pass out, be consumed by raging fire, but she would not die cursing her killers, rather imploring the mercy of her children.

‘Yezda, Rojan, Azwer …’

Outside, her desperate cries echoed across the desolate yard, before slowly drifting away into nothingness.