No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible
George Chakiris
My blood is pumping, I can vaguely hear the sirens in the background and the footsteps approaching at a fast pace, I can feel the woman pressed with her back pressed against my front trembling and trying not to move her head in fear of cutting herself on the blade I have pressed against her neck. I can hear her almost silent pleads to let her live. But I can still hear that voice at the back of my head as I feel numb. I have to do this. It has to be done. Men round the corner and point guns at me and scream at me to drop my weapon. But this has to be done. I draw my blade back to deliver her to the same fate as the 17 girls before her. But then, a gun shot.
I gasp awake and attempt to shoot up on my bed only to hit my head on the bunk above me, that's when o hear the rustle of the people around me and the guards banging on our cells with a carelessness that shows that they've done this many times before. I close my eyes and catch my breath from the nightmare that's been haunting my dreams for my six years in this place. Though is suppose it's not really a nightmare, I recall as I open my eyes, it's a memory.
I sit at the canteen with my poorly put together and barely cooked breakfast with the same numbness and finality as the last six years. This is how I've gotten through my time here, almost never speaking except for when I have to, never making any friends and never showing any emotion. Even when I've had to fight back against these other women, I've done it expressionless and empty. I like to think my tactics have worked, besides a few instances when I first arrived, people tend to stay out of my way, I would to if a serial killer with a life sentence sent 5 women to the infirmary on her first night. I never kill them though, these women aren't worth my time.
I sit on my bed staring at the blank wall in front of me, most women are allowed some sort of decoration on their wall, but I have no need to, family pictures are unnecessary as most of family are either dead, or just don't care about me anymore. I don't blame them, I think I would be irritated if they still loved me after what happened. I can't play any chess or board games either, I always forget how to play, while most of the news coverage on my killing stated that I was smart, I found it to be untrue, just because I have common sense, doesn't mean I'm a genius. I feel a twang in my shoulder as my scar gives a shot of pain as I remember the bullet that had penetrated it,
'I wasn't fast enough' I think with a scowl. That woman had gotten to live because of a stupid well timed shot to the shoulder. I rub at the spot to try and ease the pain, my court appointed therapist says it still hurts after six years due to guilt. I think it's a reminder of what I didn't get to accomplish, everything could have been ruined by a small fucking bullet. But even though she lives, everything turned out alright.
"Hey, Bird!" A guard outside yelled to get my attention, I turned my head and gave him a questioning stare. "You have some visitors, some guys from the FBI, what the hell did you do bird?" He chuckled before motioning for me to put my hands through the bars so he could handcuff me. I did as instructed with a frown of confusion on my Pale features, I hadn't done anything of importance, so why in God's name were they here? I was led through the building and dragged into a medium sized room with a table with one chair on one side, and two on the other side. I was made to sit down as they handcuffed me to a contraption sitting in front of me on the table. I was given a lecture to behave myself by the guard who had collected me from my cell. Who then left the room, leaving me alone staring at the mirror in front of me, knowing the FBI people were probably watching me. I then played the waiting game.