I couldn't stop thinking about his words and his small, unexpected confession. I'm jumping to conclusions on my own, trying to make sense out of this incomplete puzzle.
I figured that, to these people, I'm an example of an 'infidel,' and since I'm not playing by their rules, I get nothing but pain. But what the fuck do I know about terrorism?
Jack shit.
Even though the world is in constant danger and people are victims of it, by finding out about it and becoming one of those victims I realize I know more about the Kardashians than my devilish captors.
I don't know my enemy.
What an asshole I've been. I had a naïve, plastic, shallow piece of shit of a mind for years! I've done nothing in my entire life. I didn't take chances or did anything wonderful before the explosion —that's how I call it because I didn't know about the attack. I guess I should find a new word for it.
I lived to show something I wasn’t. Alone in my apartment, which was beautiful; I had invested countless hours and a lot of money to make it my perfect place, but for what? To impress some people I didn't even like.
I wonder what that place looks like right now. I assume my parents got rid of it after packing all my stuff. Probably someone as shallow as me lives there now— a typical single woman, counting calories, avoiding carbs, addicted to the gym and ruled by Cosmopolitan.
Your regular spoiled brat.
Knowing I will die here having wasted my entire life makes my soul ache.
How could I be that blind?
I've been wasting time worrying about what others think of me, trying to avoid carbs and judging people. I felt superior and invincible.
And now…?
If only I knew that something this tragic would happen to me, everything would've been different. I always fantasize about it, how my life in freedom would be with all this knowledge I now possess.
I come up empty; there's no real or fictional answer.
Any smile or good moment in my memory is being crushed under the overwhelming weight of darkness. It's just too much, way too strong. Not even hope is present in my dreams anymore.
I find myself in this cell, on my 'bed,' with my bony hands beneath my head, staring at the ceiling. I'm now thankful for at least having a pillow and a mattress. Little by little, he started providing me with some things. I wonder if the rest of the prisoners are in my same situation— constantly staring at the concrete ceiling, trying to find a familiar shape in the mold and stains, just like we used to do with the clouds when we were kids. Sometimes I think, why are there stains? Maybe they serve a purpose, like a Rorschach test. Because all I can see are the cruelest and most violent things in life.
It's almost impossible not to think this is nothing more than karma —or whatever your religion calls it. I don't know how good or bad of a person I am. I was a basic bitch. I really was, to everyone but my parents; to the rest of the world, I was cold-hearted.
Having to go through this makes you rethink a couple of things, and to repent of a lot —and I mean A LOT. Rethinking is more painful than the torture itself.
I could never see any other victim for more than two seconds, at best. Whenever I heard movement coming from the hallway, I could tell apart the victim from the aggressor. How? Easy, the aggressor's steps sounded like a military parade, and the victim's sounded nothing more than a hunk of meat being hauled while tripping with their own fears. Sometimes I rushed to peek through the small peephole on my door, my little window to the world. But I never made it fast enough; yes, I've heard screaming, screeching voices, loud noises, and even people being raped. I've also spent entire nights not sleeping, fearing someone would come for me. But he's the only one who ever worked on me, nobody else showed up. And I'm grateful that none of those animals walked through my door.
Just when I realize how grateful I am, she, my 'inner bitch,' appears, says,"I bet you never thought you'd be grateful for that!", and laughs. My 'inner bitch' is a product of my imagination who emerged the minute I was brought here. An unavoidable characterization of my conscience that stuck with me, like an annoying roomie. She's always direct, raw. She's blonde and wears a tight red dress. She's ready to party 24/7 and sits on a comfy leather armchair that only fits her perfect perky ass. She's forever elegant and arrogant; her sarcasm always hurts and sometimes makes me laugh. She's always laughing her ass off. I call her 'Life.'
Now that I know a little bit more about my situation, the fact that they believe their God wants to punish me and I believe mine has forsaken me seems ironic.
"He hasn't forsaken you, idiot, he's ignoring you on purpose,"Life interrupts my train of thought while crossing her legs and holding a glass of scotch.
As sassy as usual.
I run through a dense pine forest. There are so many trees, I feel they're hugging me. They don't let me see the clear sky. I really want to see it! I keep running until I find myself in a meadow with green grass that shines so bright, my eyes hurt. I always dream of this place. Even though the sun bathes me and my surroundings, whenever I look up, I can't see it. But I can see the blue sky. I smell the pines and yellow flowers; I hear the birds chirp loud and clear. Everything's beautiful here. But a second later, the chirps become screams. I look to the left, then to the right. Something's off. The screams continue. And then, I hear Life yell 'Wake the fuck up!'
Therefore, I do.
Chapter Three
BOOM.
Cassandra
Through the peephole, I see the hallway lights flickering hysterically. I press my face against the glass trying to see what's going on, but the movements are too fast for my eyes to follow and the flashing lights make it even harder. Suddenly, a dense smoke screen invades the area. The thunder of heavy footsteps echoing through the hallway, along with the screeches of men and women, is so loud that I get stunned and disoriented —my ears can only take so much. Out of nowhere, in a split second, a covered face appears at my peephole and scares the shit out of me. The noise out there is so loud, I can't even hear my own screams. But I can feel the adrenaline rush. The face steps back. It looks like it's trying to tell me something. I can see the lips and arms moving, I just can't understand, I'm still too confused.
