The Girl With the Hobnob Fetish
We’ve arrived in what I could call a sort of camp, nothing horrible like Auschwitz at first glance. But I suppose its summer camp façade could mask some sort of horror or I could be totally over-reacting and those log cabins are just log cabins, not iron plated torture chambers.
When I’d first stepped out of my little truck, I backed down in pain, spitefully the sun glints down into narrowed eyes. I remember feeling insulted by having to be escorted at gun point into a small, dreary room with cumbersome plastic furniture and a faint trace of disinfectant.
On my way down one of the many woodland paths, feet scuffling on brown bark chips and skating around the odd tree root. I recall feeling scared, feeling that I’d rather be anywhere apart from here and that when I finally did arrive at this building (far away from any of the other camps) I wouldn’t be feeling any better.
Beside me Mr. Thornton is jostled down the same route, acutely aware of the fact my body trembled with terror that my mind was focused on worrying about what was on the other side of that grey, metallic door which now lies just ahead. I could see it. It has lots of deep gashes by its hinges, by its door handle as if something’s been trying to get in. Or stop it from entering.
Everything seems to be a little bit of a blur, no matter how hard I strain to think about how we actually ended up here. Right now, both I and Mr. Thornton are locked in another room. It’s massively different. No windows, so I’m in complete black which makes my nerves stand on end and my ears constantly pick out every little noise from outside. Even the sound of my own breathing out of sync with Mr. Thornton’s sends me into little spasms of horror.
Coarsely I whisper “Where are we?”
“I have no idea; we need to get out though.”
“This has been a whole load of crap ever since…well it’s not even that long ago. I’m emotionally drained and I need a good long nap.”
“I could use with being turned back to normal.”
Faintly I blush in the darkness, thankful for its presence if only of that moment. I feel quite stupid for not wishing freedom from this eternal prison. That’s what it is. No matter how I look at it, it’s impossible to get out of unless I die. Fortunately I’ve not gotten to this mindset yet, yet.
“Obviously yes. I think we’re passed that type of help now don’t you? It’s better to be like this than to have died, or have been stuck burning like that.”
“’Obviously yes’.”
I never thought that I would say this, but I’m actually getting really annoyed at him. There is no need to be so fecking sarcastic. Repeating his line in my head, over and over again until it’s at the level of being a major insult. So, accordingly, my anger rises to match it.
“There’s no need to be like that. I’m tired; you’re tired so let’s just not get on each others last nerve and you’ll make it out alive.”
“I’ll make it out alive? You’ll be lucky to make it out alive if you keep this up.”
“Really now? I’m so scared.”
“Shut up!”
“Why don’t you shut up?”
I feel him beginning to stand up, hear soft cotton scrape against raised metal bumps on the cool floor, it snags for a minute. I take my chance practically leaping up, a sudden flare of pain shoots through my head. Tentiously I reach up, gingerly touching soft skin, slightly puckered from bumping it on the extremely low ceiling.
A mere two seconds after me I hear Mr. Thornton cuss after his head almost cracks in two with the force he attempted to stand up with. In complete darkness we try to establish some sort of base back down on the floor totally forgetting that we wanted to kill each other a mere 2 minutes ago.
In all of the commotion we didn’t notice, we didn’t notice armed men carrying large automatic machine guns are training them straight at us. There could be several explanations for this, the most likely being they thought –in a corner of their puny minds- that we are going to hurt them. Or that they simply enjoyed exerting their power on confused, scared people. Either option tells me they are ultimately very stupid, but stupid wielding a gun…is not good.
Every noise is accentuated by cavernous blackness surrounding the narrow lit segment where both of us perch, flanked on each side with burly soldiers. Coming from down the hall I hear echoing footsteps that grow closer, and closer, louder and louder. Who could this be now? Surely not another army wannabe being forced into our lives to make them even more hellish than they’ve already become in the past three days?
Before any other thoughts can run through my mind a tremor of shock runs through my body. Metal grinds on metal a loud crash rings around our prison; this combined with the silence of the past 2 hours makes my ears throb uncontrollably.
I’m looking at a fat, balding man dressed in army gear faded from its usual splendor of green and khaki to patches of white and grey. His pug face is creased like a wrinkly leather bag, or to use a better metaphor like a prune. Even looking at the rolls of fat underneath his chin repulses me. No doubt lined from smoking, the acrid stench of cigarettes mixed with alcohol and sweat winds its way into my nose making me feel physically sick. So much so that I reel back further into my little space bumping back into one of the soldiers legs. All around forced snickers begin injected with an odd look of concern. This guy must be bad news.
“Up.” A voice as awful as his visage, horse from his latest smoke no doubt almost barks this crude –could you even call that a sentence?- sentence at me.
“Why?” I ask dubiously
“I told you to that is why!”
He steps closer to my face; I can clearly see how blood shot his eye is they’re almost all red with scores of tiny capillaries. The brown in his eyes almost as dark as his pupils themselves. Behind me I can hear heavy footfalls as somebody steps right up to my back, their cool leather boots touching the small arch of exposed flesh.
I crane my head upwards only to see an extremely friendly face; coffee colored skin is illuminated by soft light streaming through the open door. Takeshi, I knew then that I’m safe from whoever this guy is. Cool metal touches my back and soaks through my t-shirt like water. I don’t dare smile at him for fear that the new comer will punish him unjustly but I make a mental note to thank him later.
“I can’t stand up. There’s a ceiling on top of us.” I mutter
“Oh yes, that’s right. I hope you will forgive our little security measure, don’t want my men to be hurt by you…creatures.”
Then much to my surprise Mr. Thornton scrambles to the feet of the grotesque man and slams his fists into him, knocking him backwards. With an almighty crash he falls to the floor and his large gun that he carried fires. I jump at the loud noise and feel a cold wave of shock run through me. Luckily no-one is hurt, at least, no-one visible.
Above the man cowering on the floor Mr. Thornton stands glowering at him, I’ve never seen him this mad not even when the whole class bar three turned up for his lesson. Before I know what’s quite going on I hear another crack followed by a yelp of surprise and pain. Crawling out of the cage the same way Mr. Thornton had I see that it was him who had caused the crack. He’s broken the army guy’s nose. Ruby red blood streams from the jagged cut the cartilage makes as it pokes through his wrinkled flesh. Around the circle soft whispers begin, almost like that game and by the time it gets to the soldier at the end the man with the broken nose has struggled to his feet glared at me then at Mr. Thornton and huffed out of the room nearly slipping in his own blood.
Breath rushes out of me and clean air floods in as I let out a breath that I didn’t even know I was holding in. Shakily I make my way over to Gervais who was standing by the door but all of a sudden he is right by me, holding me up. That’s funny; I didn’t even know I had fallen.
“Takeshi! Takeshi quickly.” He shouts towards him, I try to walk but somehow my feet fail me, what the hell is going on here? Why am I malfunctioning?
Takeshi whips his head around from the soldier he had been talking to and turns white as soon as he looks at me. Is something wrong? Am I changing again? Are my eyes going white? I feel his arms around me; they both seem so warm in comparison. That’s always the way though, I’m always freezing.
“Abi, Abi can you hear us?” Gervais mutters next to my ear as he sits me down on the enclosure I had just been prisoner in.
“Of course I can hear you.” I grin confusedly
“Plug the bleeding.” Takeshi commands, all I see is his shirt coming off and being wrapped around my middle, I laugh out loud as I remember what Hannah said about Jacob in Twilight, this is exactly like that moment. I want to laugh, but it turns into a sob, why does it hurt so much?
It’s then I look down and I gasp so loudly and my unfelt pain showed so much everyone turned to see what is wrong. Before long what feels like hundreds of brawny soldiers are milling around me. So many that I can’t breathe properly. Turns out that the gun hadn’t missed, it had shot someone that someone- was me. It’s always me. It can never be Joe Bloggs, always Abi. Maybe I’m just the unluckiest person alive that might explain it.
Black cotton turns sticky, moist with the precious blood seeping from the gaping hole the bullet tore into my midriff. How could I not have noticed that? In the crowd of faces I can just pick out Takeshi standing near fighting off another man who smiles almost sinisterly at me. Unwillingly my hand finds his and rests in his open palm, I’m scared. I’m so scared. If I had Facebook that would be my status.
