Ziva's POV in the Somali desert. Based on the first verse of the 3 Doors Down song of the same name.
Not supposed to be scared of anything, but I don't know where I am
I wish that I could move, but I'm exhausted and nobody understands how I feel
I'm trying hard to breathe now, but there's no air in my lungs
There's no one here to talk to and the pain inside is making me numb.
I am not me. I am not the fearless Mossad officer. I am not the daughter of the agency's director – unafraid of everything. I know that I am lost, but that is all. I do not who I am. I do not know where I am. My father does not care where I am. I want to move; I need to move; I need to escape, but I cannot. I have been unable to for several days. The beatings, the tortures, the starvation and dehydration have all rendered me weak. My limbs and face are swollen and I can barely open my eyes. There is a heaviness in my chest and it is getting hard to breath. Every intake of the musty, dust-ridden air is an immense effort that I can barely afford in my debilitated state. The physical pain hurts, but it's the emotions that have taken their toll. I have no guests, no visitors. I see no one bar those who deliver harm. I miss those who used to surround me, but they are as gone as I am to them. All that I did before here hang over me. I've changed. I'm changing. It's not going to stop. I'm going numb…
Queries? Comments? Criticism?
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