I'm going to die soon. There's no way around it: I'm will either die at my
hands or at the hands of fate. I can't exist like this: deprived of all
light and sound. I need fresh air. I haven't been able to bathe or brush my
teeth for days. All I hear is murmured voices.I can't make out what they
are saying. I am still trying to figure out a motive. Why go to the trouble
of kidnapping me to leave me to waste away in a closet? There is a darker
motive here and something tells me I won't live to find out what it is.
There are three possible outcomes right now. One is that my captors kill me, two I simply wilt away and die, and three I die by my own hands. Right now I lean towards option three. At least that way I deprive whatever sick fiend abducted me of the pleasure.
Left alone in this closet, I have plenty of time to think. I gave up fighting my psyche days ago. I just give in to the crazy hallucinations and dreams my mind cooks up. They become so vivid that sometimes I can't tell if I'm awake or not. Sleep doesn't come easy.
I've been thinking a lot about Africa lately. I can still remember the way the sun felt in the middle of the day and that smell. There isn't a place in the world that smells like the veldt. I remember bright-coloured fabrics, dark-skinned children whose skinny legs were covered with bug bites, and I remember the smell of bread. Despite the unpleasantness that arose, I do remember some nice people. There was Hadiya, the old woman who served as my handmaiden, with her dark eyes and bright smile. It was she whom helped me escape, when the role of goddess began to haunt me.
I haven't seen Hadiya since that fateful night. I do not know what happened to her when they found me gone. I suppose I could search for her, but I don't know where she is. My tribe is a nomadic one and they have probably moved since then. Besides, Hadiya had told me not to ever think of her or contact her. I don't want to jeopardize her safety, so I can only hope she is alive and well.
When I get tired of getting lost in my thoughts, I recite songs and poems and any thing I can think of off the top of my head. It's so comforting hearing a voice, even if it is my own. I stretch and exercise best I can in that tiny space. I don't want to grow my limbs to grow fallow. I want to be ready should my predictions prove wrong and I get my freedom back.
When I can think of nothing else to do, I sit back in my dark hole and listen to what goes on around me. I hear whispers all around me. Their voices are deep and full of menace. I can only guess what they are saying. There are two, maybe three men. I know there is one woman amongst them: I hear her arguing with the other men and I see a brown-haired woman give me my meals every day.
Yesterday, the strangest thing happened. It was around noon and I was expecting lunch when all of a sudden the door swung wide open. I nearly fell over because I had been leaning against the door. I blinked and squinted into the bright light.
Instead of the woman with the soft brown hair, it was a man with dirty blond hair. His face was scrunched deep into a scowl. His eyes were barely visible beneath those folds of flesh. He was a tall man, sturdily built with shoulders like a football player. His hands were clenched into fists and hung at his sides. He looked like a lion ready to pounce.
What I remember the most was the look in his eyes. Behind those eyes, lurked the mind of a madman. They had such a horrible look of pure rage in them. They were so angry. I have no idea why he would be so mad at me; a couple weeks ago, we were complete strangers. Why was he so mad at me?
We stared at each other for the longest time: his face hardened in rage, mine trying to maintain the "Maasai Warrior" look. I know he wanted to kill me. He not only wanted to kill me, he wanted to destroy me, eviscerate me, and make it so I never existed. I braced myself for death. If I were to die at his hands, I wanted my face to remain stoic to deny him the pleasure of my screams.
Instead he simply stuffed me back into the closet and walked away, leaving me even more irritated. He was playing games with me, dangling the prospect of death. Sooner or later something had to give though. Both of us knew I wasn't going to go out in the bright sun again.
There are three possible outcomes right now. One is that my captors kill me, two I simply wilt away and die, and three I die by my own hands. Right now I lean towards option three. At least that way I deprive whatever sick fiend abducted me of the pleasure.
Left alone in this closet, I have plenty of time to think. I gave up fighting my psyche days ago. I just give in to the crazy hallucinations and dreams my mind cooks up. They become so vivid that sometimes I can't tell if I'm awake or not. Sleep doesn't come easy.
I've been thinking a lot about Africa lately. I can still remember the way the sun felt in the middle of the day and that smell. There isn't a place in the world that smells like the veldt. I remember bright-coloured fabrics, dark-skinned children whose skinny legs were covered with bug bites, and I remember the smell of bread. Despite the unpleasantness that arose, I do remember some nice people. There was Hadiya, the old woman who served as my handmaiden, with her dark eyes and bright smile. It was she whom helped me escape, when the role of goddess began to haunt me.
I haven't seen Hadiya since that fateful night. I do not know what happened to her when they found me gone. I suppose I could search for her, but I don't know where she is. My tribe is a nomadic one and they have probably moved since then. Besides, Hadiya had told me not to ever think of her or contact her. I don't want to jeopardize her safety, so I can only hope she is alive and well.
When I get tired of getting lost in my thoughts, I recite songs and poems and any thing I can think of off the top of my head. It's so comforting hearing a voice, even if it is my own. I stretch and exercise best I can in that tiny space. I don't want to grow my limbs to grow fallow. I want to be ready should my predictions prove wrong and I get my freedom back.
When I can think of nothing else to do, I sit back in my dark hole and listen to what goes on around me. I hear whispers all around me. Their voices are deep and full of menace. I can only guess what they are saying. There are two, maybe three men. I know there is one woman amongst them: I hear her arguing with the other men and I see a brown-haired woman give me my meals every day.
Yesterday, the strangest thing happened. It was around noon and I was expecting lunch when all of a sudden the door swung wide open. I nearly fell over because I had been leaning against the door. I blinked and squinted into the bright light.
Instead of the woman with the soft brown hair, it was a man with dirty blond hair. His face was scrunched deep into a scowl. His eyes were barely visible beneath those folds of flesh. He was a tall man, sturdily built with shoulders like a football player. His hands were clenched into fists and hung at his sides. He looked like a lion ready to pounce.
What I remember the most was the look in his eyes. Behind those eyes, lurked the mind of a madman. They had such a horrible look of pure rage in them. They were so angry. I have no idea why he would be so mad at me; a couple weeks ago, we were complete strangers. Why was he so mad at me?
We stared at each other for the longest time: his face hardened in rage, mine trying to maintain the "Maasai Warrior" look. I know he wanted to kill me. He not only wanted to kill me, he wanted to destroy me, eviscerate me, and make it so I never existed. I braced myself for death. If I were to die at his hands, I wanted my face to remain stoic to deny him the pleasure of my screams.
Instead he simply stuffed me back into the closet and walked away, leaving me even more irritated. He was playing games with me, dangling the prospect of death. Sooner or later something had to give though. Both of us knew I wasn't going to go out in the bright sun again.