Sarah
The wound in my stomach hurts like hell and I feel like there's something wrong there, my symptoms are showing up, there is redness around the wound and it’s a little swell.
On top of that, I smell bad, like homeless bad, dirt buried under my fingernails, dry blood on my face and body and don’t make me start about the hair.
I guess that what I’m trying to say it that I feel really uncomfortable in this private plane.
Yes, I said private.
Leather sits, floral arrangements on the tables and fresh smell in the air, this is a fancy jet alright.
We are all sitting in different corners of the plane. I guess we all need a moment of privacy to process everything that had happened in the last…days? Months? Years?
I'm in the farthest seat, away from everybody. My elbow is in the armrest, my right hand holds my head to avoid having a stiff neck in the near future, and my eyes look out of the window. I only see the reflection of my face, because of the darkness of the night.
My eyes close and open every now and then. I feel I'm just blinking, but every time I look at the digital clock on the wall it has a different time.
The white noise of the airplane and Ben's little voice is all can I heard. The boy is with Bruno, asking questions about the plane with a high-pitched tone and Bruno answer in a low voice, trying to keep everyone calm and sleepy.
* * *
I open my eyes again.
The sun is up, filling the sky with purple and blue colors. I hear a murmur in the plane; I peek at the front seats and I see Bruno. He’s facing the back of the plane, while I’m facing the front, so I have no way to glance at him without being caught.
He looks comfortable among so much luxury. His hands still have my dry blood on it and a magazine on his lap, he’s looking at it while talking over the phone.
He seems to be arguing with whoever is on the other side of the call.
I can see Ben's little feet hanging from the seat in front of him. He apparently eventually fell asleep.
I wonder if Ben will be traumatized for the rest of his life. We still don't know exactly what happened to him, but we do know that it was serious. It causes me so much pain, knowing that there are millions of children in the same situation as him, but not so lucky.
How can such evil souls exist in this world?
“Sarah, come here.” my stomach flips when I hear Bruno's assertive voice.
“Daddy is calling,” murmurs Life.
I didn’t notice he finished his call at some point, and now he's only looking at the magazine. The seconds go by and I still don't answer. That makes him look up, throwing bolts of lightning straight into my eyes.
“You know, I always know when you're spying on me.” He insists with his irritated tone. “Come here, please.”
I get up from my seat and walk over to him. As soon as I reach his seat, he sits me on his lap; I hold on to his neck, trying to calm the pain.
“What is it? Are you in pain?” he asks; frowning.
“A little bit.” I lie.
“You’re lying, tell me the truth.”
Fuck, he always knows.
“It’s the bullet wound, I guess its infected.”
“Let me see.” He says while lifts my burka.
“No, no Bruno, not here!” I cry.
