I hear it say, "Get back!" —or at least, I think I hear it. Was that a man's voice? I take a few steps away from the door anyway. A loud thud follows, then another and another— the man is trying to kick the door down, but it just won't give.
"Take cover behind the bed!" he yells at me. My 'bed' is a large block of concrete with a mattress on it. It finally has a purpose. I immediately jump behind it and cover my head with my hands.
What the fuck is going on!?
BOOM!
Something blows up —if I wasn't already deaf, I am now—, the door crashes against the wall. I'm covered in dust, I can even taste it. Before I can even peek over the bed, the man is by my side. He grabs my tiny arm and pulls me out of the cell. I have no time to react.
I start screaming because the man is not 'him' and this is wrong. I can't let him take me, I'm scared this one might do to me the things 'he' never did. So, I try to fight him, with no luck— he's too strong. I keep trying, but I can feel the adrenaline slipping away from my body and with it, what's left of my strength.
Now, I have no choice but to observe this man. After all, he might be the last person I ever see. He's all dressed in black, wearing some sort of body armor, a black helmet, a pair of goggles covering almost his entire face and a black scarf with a nasty and frightening skull jaw in white.
Now I'm being pushed to walk faster. I'm being yelled at as well, but I can't understand anything, I'm too distracted by my surroundings. Some other cell doors are open. I look inside them as I go by, and I can see bloodstains on the walls and people lying on the ground, probably dead for a while. Now there are a lot of people in the hallway running into me. They knock me back and down like I'm made of paper. There's so much smoke, I can't see where I'm stepping, so I trip. I look down to see what was in the way: there's a body. A man, no— a kid, with a puddle of blood around his head. That image hits me hard and I can feel my legs abandoning me; I kneel beside him. My lungs are full of smoke. I can't go on. I cough over and over, trying to breathe the smoke away. My chest hurts, I can't take this anymore. My body can't endure this, and my mind doesn't want to, either.
The man grabs my waist, lifts me, and carries me on his left shoulder. He starts jogging through the endless hallway. I try to get down. I know I won't succeed, but I try to, anyway.
There are more doors here than letters in the alphabet.
"Put me down! You don't understand! I can't leave! Please, you don't understand!" I yell as hard as I can, but he keeps on going like he's both blind and deaf— clearly, a man with a goal.
Finally, I give up and close my eyes.
I don't want to see what's about to happen.
And then it hits me: a cold breeze reaches my face and my arms. My entire body welcomes this chilly sensation.
My eyes are now open… I am…
Outside.
I'm still being carried like a puppet. I'd care, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm disappointed —it's nighttime. Once again, I don't get to see the sun. I really wanted to, I miss it so much. Finally, the man carrying me puts me down on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. A doctor is there to tend to my wounds.
Before they even put a gauze on me, a blanket is provided, for warmth or comfort. Then I remember I'm only wearing a rag that covers my body from shoulders to knees, with no underwear. It's the very same rag they gave me when they threw me in the cell. Never washed. I've always had it on me; always.
The stretcher beneath me shakes like an earthquake and distracts me before I can see the doctor's face. The man has been searching for a place to sit and finally finds it. His body's too big for both of us to fit in here. The ambulance door closes and we start moving. I can see the old derelict building shrinking in the distance.
Is that in the past now?
I'm blinded by a flashlight. The doctor —or at least I think he is— is checking my reflexes. The light moves in and out. My eyes have been deprived of such intense light for so long, that it hurts. A lot.
"You idiot! Be careful! She's weak!" I hear the man yell. His voice sounds muffled behind the scarf. It looks as if the skull was actually talking.
"Excuse me, sir! I'm doing my job. Now please, let me do it," the doctor yells back. "Step on it Jose, come on!" The second those words are spoken, the ambulance speeds up like a rocket. Up until now, I hadn't notice the sirens were on. "Are you in any pain? Where does it hurt?" the doctor asks as he reaches for my chest with the stethoscope.
"I don't feel any pain," I whisper to the doctor while staring at the man beside me.
"What!? Speak up, please!" he yells and shakes my arm at the same time, in an attempt to make me focus.
Before I even realize it, the man grabs his neck and bashes him against a shelf full of medical supplies that fall all over me. I cover my head with my arms.
"I said be careful, motherfucker. Touch her again and I'll rip your arm off!" A roaring voice with a menacing expression.
"Hey! What's going on back there?" Jose asks and peeks through the rearview mirror.
"Nothing. Eyes on the road, Jose," the petrified doctor says. The man lets him go and the doctor composes himself. He stares at the man like he's the ghost of Christmas past.
"Apologize," the man grunts furiously.
