It had been three weeks.
Three long, tiring, hot weeks where I still expected one of my friends to jump out from around a corner and shout, "Got you!" and it would all be over, I could go home to my mother and father and three younger siblings again. However I knew that even though my friends may be the type to pull harmless pranks, this wasn't one. It couldn't be, it was all too real. The past three weeks had been humiliating, degrading and harsh. This was not a world I was used to by any means, and not even my worst enemy would wish this upon me.
My first memories of this place were utterings of "Smooth-skin girlie" and "immortan Joe's favour" before rough hands poked and prodded, pulled and tugged at me to move me, I was yet unable to move, willing myself furiously to move my arms or even a finger but it wasn't happening. I had started to cry, thinking perhaps that I had lost the use of my body in my baffling sleep. I had been undressed until I was nude, dirty clothes peeled off of me, and washed in warm water until I was red raw from the scrubbing of my skin. Oils that smelt of lemon and honey had filled my senses as older women had rubbed the scent onto my skin, leaving a glittery shine on my porcelain complexion that seemed almost ethereal.
A silk white cloth had been wrapped around my breasts and around my arms as though they were fallen sleeves that were supposed to be up past my shoulders, and a skirt that was wrapped to my mid-thigh to tie at my side. I had regained some movement in my muscles, but lacked the energy to move them much beyond a few inches as well as managing a low grown.
"Hush now girl," an old woman rasped as she placed an over worked and crooked finger over my lips, she smelled of oil and dirt, and a tinge of sweat hit the dingy air around me. "You're off to a place where you'll be cared for like a queen." I couldn't answer the lady; however the gut feeling that hit me said that was a lie.
My green eyes were wide as I took in my surroundings, the room looked castle like, and the room looked as though it was carved out of a huge rock that we were in the middle of, with green vines crawling their way up the side. The room was circular, and from my position I could see the sky through the ceiling. The room itself didn't have much in it, just a large brass bath and piles of folded white silk. The older women who tended to me were obviously in the last quarter of life, decaying teeth, matted and muddy hair, with intricate scars on their foreheads or other parts of their faces. I couldn't tell one from the other, really, except for one woman who had words tattooed on most of her face. She hadn't really said a word this whole time, just picking out red dirt from under my fingernails and toenails, before buffing them to the point of perfection.
It felt odd, how these women are taking care of me, I didn't know them and they didn't know me, but I couldn't relax. I did not feel safe in this place; from the crisp heat outside, I could tell I was a far cry from Balloch, Scotland during the winter. The thought that I had somehow travelled thousands of miles to an unknown location without even being aware unsettled me.
Another woman came in with a brown bowl of steaming liquid, she grinned at me, probably meaning to be friendly, but with teeth as few like that I couldn't help but feel it were sinister, but those were—hopefully—my own prejudices instead of truths. She came close enough for me to smell the liquid, and I instantly wished she hadn't. I baulked and turned my head away, but I was met with comforting shushes and touches to the arm. "It's okay, don't worry," one of the women croaked, "Tastes like dirt but it will make you well that's guaranteed." She tried a toothy smile, but all I spotted was whitened gums. She was obvious anaemic. Three of the women helped me to sit up, steadying my head, while the woman with the bowl advanced further. The smell made my eyes water, but I closed my sinuses as much as I could and gulped the warm liquid down with speed, coughing and spluttering all the way. I tried not to think of what could have been in it while I swallowed the last gulps in my mouth with haste. It had definitely not tasted like dirt.
I stood up abruptly when I had finished, the sudden adrenaline pushing me to my feet but buckling over both in weakness and the fact that I felt as though I'd bring up my breakfast any second. Rough hands cradled me, and helped me up, a clean cloth wiping the remnants of that horrid liquid away from my skin. As I was finally able to stand, I realised I towered over these women, I had always been tall, standing at five foot, ten inches without any shoes on and a little slouch I'd always had. However, it took me off guard at how short these women were, on the edge of claiming dwarfism.
"Come, girl, you're waited on you know." The one with the tattoos said, guiding me with her hand to the only exit in the room, a wooden door with a medieval peep hole that was closable from this side. I was curious, but I thought better to question things. I'd seen a few horror films in my time, and my throat felt hoarse.
I was led through dark, rocky corridors which I needed to duck slightly to get through comfortably. The sound of metal work was getting louder, hearing construction or engineering getting closer, as well as the strengthening smell of petrol and motor oil. Definitely cars, I surmised. The corridors opened into a large but dark room, with bald men working on cars stood at attention and curiosity when we passed. I was eyed curiously, different coloured iris' raking up and down my exposed body parts. I felt vulnerable, eyes wide and teary as I looked around the room.
Everyone had stopped, the clinking of metal had seized. I looked around franticly, finding no eyes on mine as they bore lower than my face. As I was pulled along by the short women surrounding me, I met a set of pale blue eyes that didn't seem to be taking in my assets. He seemed to look in wonder as he looked to the short old women and then straight into my green irises. His jaw was slack, and he seemed to mouth something as I disappeared through the door.
"Dry your eyes girlie," a woman croaked, "Immortan Joe isn't gonna want to see ya with puffy eyes."
Short, yes, but this is to get the ball rolling. What do you think? Please leave me a review. Constructive criticism is welcome.