Trigger Warnings: Rape, Murder, Blood
Ah yes, Satan, worms for dinner, the easiest thing I’ve had to tolerate in days. In fact, I lost count of how long I have been here, the number of broken bones, too. I wonder if there is anything left to break. At least I have the consolation of being in a dark place, dark enough to blur my vision of the crawling worms before me. Looks like I will be eating with my mouth alone, for I cannot feel my arms. Maybe they are broken, too.
I still have not the faintest idea where I am. The place is damp and humid with cold floors that make me shiver. As I lie on my back with my arms on my belly, I think of only one thing: I must live. My daughter needs me. I am the only one she has left after they shot my husband. Three blows, two in the chest, one in the head. It was heart-wrenching to witness everything with my own eyes more so because they forced me to. Believe me, blood was the least gruesome thing that came out of him, his brain and his insides were splattered everywhere.
My husband was a comforting companion. We met in college. His farmer’s tan, the barrel-chested build would make my heart flutter even after a decade of marriage. Every night after my work he would pick me up at the same spot outside my office building, wearing his signature lopsided grin. There was this one time we ate fast food near there and laughed about our day sharing our inside jokes but little did I know that was the last time I will see him.
The night we were abducted, a van suddenly stopped in front of us. Four men rushed out, three grabbed my husband by the neck and arms, while I was yanked out by the other. I was struggling inside as they were beating up my husband. Eventually, we were contained, gagged, hand-tied, and blindfolded. We continued our muffled screams until I got a forceful blow in my stomach. Everything went black... When I regained consciousness, my blindfold was gone. Tallgrass surrounds me without anything else in sight. I was on my knees seeing my husband being punched continuously in the face and body, while behind me was a man pulling my hair forcing me to watch the horror. Three loud bangs rang, and I saw my husband’s eyes turned to glass, staring back at me blankly without life. A pool of blood seeped, staining the grass. I was dragged back to the van that came out of nowhere. Then, everything went black again, and woke up here.
If only I had the gift of foresight, I could have taken a different path in life. I remember Mama, she was my first teacher. She taught me how to read and write. Growing up I always wanted to be like her, dominant and eloquent. She was a great beauty, too. Often Papa would tell me how lucky he was to have met her. She was a regular contributor to a local broadsheet and wrote unbelievably well. Her political commentaries were unorthodox and controversial. I could only envy her.
When I started my writing job, I would always attempt to emulate her. Although to be honest, my work was pale in comparison with her work. I would always ask myself, “What would Mama say if she was writing about this?” Howbeit, my works were always controversial. For Mama and I shared one rule: speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Vulgar and unforgiving, I never minced a word. And for this, I collected quite a number of enemies. Is this the price I pay being honest? For voicing out what I believed was everyone’s business? This skill for writing I developed over the years, is it a curse?
Still lying down and thinking about what happened to me and my husband, I cannot help but fear for my daughter. I wonder how she is now. Mama and Papa took her to the province a few days after I started receiving threats. I was even the one who packed her things. I made sure to include her dolls for she would terribly miss them. I miss my daughter so much. She is my sun and my fresh air. The moon and the stars are nothing without her. I miss my definition of joy, kindness, and laughter. I miss her cute soft voice every time she called me “Mama.” I miss the feeling of seeing her fall asleep on my lap while playing with her dolls, it gives me butterflies. She’s my everything- the very best part of me. My sweet charming angel, the memory of her is the only thing that keeps me going now.
I have to find a way out because every second I stay here I feel closer and closer to death. Though death is certainly sweeter than the situation I am currently in, I cannot die just yet. My purpose is not over. I want to see my daughter grow up. I want to be there when she graduates, when she is about to have her first child. I want to comfort her when she is sick, when she is worried. When she is about to give up, I want to give her strength. I have nothing else to lose but my daughter.
Wait, I hear footsteps. The sound gets louder and louder; someone must be coming toward me. Not another bowl of worms, please, or maybe another round? I am still sore down there, yet I can barely move to protect myself. Nevertheless, there is no point in wasting energy now. I guess I have to lie down. That way it will hurt less. I hope my nipples would not be tazed this time, and fewer punches, too. I hope the thrusting would be quick and painless. But I will remain strong and take everything for my daughter. I promised her Mama will live. Not today, Satan, not tomorrow either.
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