I've decided to start this story because I love watching NCIS with Ziva in it. In this story I will show you of what I think happened in Somalia, and a little something extra. I was reading a story today and I decided I wanted to write one just like it except that this will be a little different. The beginning may sound the same but it will be different. I hope you enjoy what I have written.
Chapter 1
"sound"
"thoughts"
(3rd person)
Whip…whip…whip…The sound of a whip is echoing throughout the dark, rancid cell. A whimper is let out each time it strikes bare skin, leaving red marks that start to swell soon after the whip leaves her body.
No clothing has been seen on her body since she was brought in two months ago, they had stripped her of that right after she had killed many of Saleem's men. They make her lay there, blindfolded, naked, and bound by thick, stiff coarse rope. They only take of the blindfold when she has a 'special' job to do for them or when they want to torture her. They say it is because they want to see the look in her eyes. One of their favorite things to do is looking into her eyes when they lay themselves on her. Making themselves feel pleasure as they put her body through so much pain. They say they love the horror that they see in her eyes, and the fear that has come into them. She never screams though, even through all the things that they put her through she never screams. All the branding, the whipping, and the rape and not one time does she yell out or beg for mercy. All she does is just groan or whimper in pain whenever they begin to torture her, but even then she only does that if it hurts extremely bad. Most of the wounds that she thinks are bad would kill a normal person on any given day.
But she cannot hide all of her pain, she tries so hard not to show them her eyes, but they all always punish her until she does. When she turns away from them they kick her already broken ribs, stomp on her long ago shattered fingers, or bang her cracked skull against the blistering hot concrete floor. Her body is always covered in her blood, whether it be from her head, her torso, or her vagina, it is always there.
They try to break her, try to make her give them information about herself, try to find out information about her profession and how she came to be there. But she never says a word. They don't even know her name. All they call her is Jew whore, they even branded that on her stomach with a red hot iron rod so that she will never forget.
She is that strong, able to resist even telling them her name, but slowly all that pain is taking away her will to live.
(Ziva's point of view)
I haven't seen any sunlight since I was first brought in here. All I have seen since I have been here are men's faces, when they lay themselves on me, or the various things they use to mar my skin.
Knives that they use to sketch words into my body or to stab me with.
Red hot iron rods that they use to brand me. Whips that they use to strike across my body. Nails that they hammer in my hands to pin me down.
Drills to drill holes into my body as a sick joke saying that they want to become 'holey'. Hammers that they use to break my bones or to bruise my body.
And even bamboo rods that they use to shove under my nails.
You would think that my body will finally go numb with pain, but that is not true. When people say the pain will eventually go away, they are lying. The pain may fade, but it never truly goes away, there is always the phantom pain. The memory of how you had gotten that scar or why you had gotten it.
It has been two months since I had come to this camp, and I can still feel the very first wound that I had gotten from his men. I don't think that I will ever forget any of the wounds that I have. I wish they would just kill me, and I fantasize about it every chance I get, but I know deep down in my soul that they won't. It is only because I am woman, and when you are a woman the rules that they use for men don't apply to you.
They have a routine here with me. Everyday in the morning, or at least what I think is the morning, Saleem comes in and talks to me. He tells me all the things that he and his men are going to do to me that day and how he and his men will enjoy it. He then takes off my blindfold and then it starts off with him raping me, and then some of his men, then after he has satisfied his own needs he starts in with the questioning.
"Who are you?"
"Why did you come here?"
"Who do you work for?"
These questions just keep going on and on. When I don't answer he has one of his men get out a knife and just starts to stab me. Usually it is in the arms or legs, but if I piss them off and I usually do, they stab me and then twist the knife while it is still lodged in me that is one of the tings that makes me whimper. Sometimes when I try to lash out at them, spit on them or even bite them when they are trying to have their way with me they stab me in the abdomen which makes me groan. They know that this can be fatal to me but they sometimes forget because they just love seeing me in so much pain.
After they question me for about an hour, they retie my blindfold on me and then they leave me alone. What I estimate to be three hours later I usually hear footsteps coming down the corridor to my cell. My door then opens and I hear a thud as something lands on the floor. My meal for the day. I always consists of rice and some sort of meat and a bottle of water. It is very difficult trying to eat without the use of my hands but I manage. Then after I have finished my meal the men come back and torture me some more. Everyday is different, sometimes it is the drill, other times it is the hammer, or the nails. Then after they have finished with scarring my body some more, they take their clothes off and take turns raping me again. And everyday when they had finished and they had left I would pray to Allah that he would just let them kill me so that my suffering could finally end.
But that did not happen. Everyday is the same way, it hasn't changed in the two months that I have been here and I didn't think that it ever would. But then it did and I was so scared because I had counted on that schedule always being there because that was the only thing that I could depend on.
I could here voices on the far end of the corridor yelling at each other in Arabic. They were trying to get someone to do something for them. But whoever it was wouldn't agree. The men, fed up with whoever it was, decided to hit them. And that's when I first heard whoever it was they were trying to persuade. It was a child, a very small little girl by the sound of her cries. She was pleading with them saying that she had been a good girl. That she hadn't done anything wrong that day. But all they said was "No one wants to hear you Bitch!" and that had stopped her pleading but not her crying.
They then started walking towards my cell. At first I thought they were going to stop before mine, but no they just kept on coming, then I thought that they were going to pass right by me, but I was wrong again.
They stopped right in front of my cell, opened the door and threw the little girl in and said "Jew whore you have a new buddy, and she is here to stay."
The door then slammed shut and the cell was filled with only whimpers and my heavy breathing. Who is this child and how did she come to be here.
"C-c-child are yo oay?" I ask her in Arabic with a painfully hoarse voice that is barely qualified as a whisper. I hadn't used my voice in so long and they had choked me so many times that my throat forgot how to form some words.
"W-who a-a-are y-you?" asked a scared tiny voice.
"M-my ame is Ziva w-wha's your?" I ask in reassuring tone.
"They c-call me B-b-bitch so I t-t-t-think that is m-my n-n-name, but I'm n-not s-sure." she stuttered out.
I gasp in horror as I hear her words, but then I realize that she had probably grown up here so that is what she has always known.
"Tha is not a ame child, tha is a wor tha they use to be cuel. How abou I ive yo a real ame insead of tha ba one? Hmmm?" I manage to get out.
"Y-yes p-p-please."
"Oay jus give me a inute to tink." I try to come up with some good names for her but all the ones that I think of don't fit.
Finally after a couple minutes of pondering, I come up with a perfect name for her. Flower.
"ow abou Hana?"
"I l-like i-it. It's p-p-pretty."
"Oay the Hana I haf a quesion. Did the tie yo up and blinfol yo?" I ask with a little hope that she answers yes.
"They d-didn't blindfold me b-but they did t-tie my h-hands up" she says without stuttering as much as before.
"Oay goo. Do yo think tha yo coul untie my blinfol?" I ask her in a hopeful tone.
"I can try" she says.
I hear her moving closer to me and then I start to feel the warmth of her body. I can feel her move around to my back and she reaches her hands up to the back of my head. I hiss as her hand grazes one of the many cuts that are upon my head.
As soon as she hears me hiss she stops moving and starts to apologize and backs away from me.
"No Hana it's oay I jus moed my le the wong way" I lie to her, trying to not make her to upset.
"O-okay if your s-sure."
I nod my head for her to continue and try to ignore the stabs of pain that are going through my head.
After a few minutes I finally feel the blindfold loosening from around my head. As she finally pulls it off all together turn my head around to look at her and what I see makes me gasp in horror.
What I see is a young child looking barely a day over three with no clothes on and her body covered in blood, bruises, and in scars. She sees the look in my eyes and looks away from me scared that I might do something to her.
"Hana look a me" she turns her head to stare into her eyes. "I will neve harm yo. I proise. Now coe back aroun here chil, I wan to tae a goo look at you. How old are yo anyways?" I question her.
"Five I think" she answers.
Five years old and she is living in hell. Why is the world so cruel.
So what do you think of my story so far? Please review I want to know your opinions and also I would like your criticism. It is most appreciate. Till next time.
-Sakura2113