Victimized, 1983.
It feels like I’m in the middle of a desert with the way I am parched, tired, and slick with sweat. Everything within me is giving up. The steps I take are like weights that I try to avoid in gym.
How did I ever end up here?
Right. I am an idiot.
I followed him for the first time yesterday and I ended up getting wasted in the streets. I feel awful, terrible if you count those two kids who accidentally hit me with a soccer ball on the face. Oh, my nose! That’s right. I was bleeding before I fainted.
I touch my upper lip and there I find rough and hardened brown liquid crusted up.
Minutes later I find myself in the middle of a headache and the need to vomit. Ew. I need a hot bath pronto!
Oof!
“Perdón, Miss!” A guy with a funny hat exclaims as he managed to bump into me. Talk about bulky shoulders.
“Me no hablo Spanish?” I blurt out. “I-uh...sorry. What?”
“Are you lost?” the man repeats, this time in english.
“Ah...yeah! I was wondering where I am?”
“Mexico. You’re in Mexico.”
My eyes grow wide and my headache just grow worse at his answer. What the hell? How on earth did I end up here?
You are dead when I find you, Angelo. Dead-er, if that is possible.
“Excuse me, Mister, but can I borrow your phone?” I ask him politely, batting my eyes for a puppy dog effect. “I just need to call a certain someone.”
“Okay... here you go. Just don’t go over my minutes.”
“Thanks!”
Immediately, I punch in Angelo’s number. It rings for a while before someone picked up.
“DUDE! WHY THE HELL AM I IN MEXICO?” I yell toward the receiver of the phone before the line went dead.
I try calling the number once again, but it ends up in voicemail. Weird.
“Hey, Mister. Here’s your...phone...? Uh...where did he go?” I wonder to myself as I scan the festivities going about.
The man who is just with me disappeared.
This place is getting weird.
At least, I have his phone. I could try calling the police.
Just when I am going to dial 9-1-1, the phone vanished in front of my eyes.
“What the--”
The ground beneath me begins to shake violently. An earthquake? No way.
Desperate to get to safety, I ran to an open area. Looking around I see people doing the same. People from the buildings that started to crack and crumble, push each other out the scrawny office doors. Screams were heard as the ground slowly opens, while the earth trembles in fear. Wait. That’s me. I am trembling...what is happening?
I feel my knees weaken as I am now dropping on the ground, breathing heavily. The headache that was gone for a minute suddenly came back in full force, attacking my vision. Everything is getting blurry..until...until... the darkness consumes me.
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“Experiment 2547 showed no signs of breathing for at least 7 minutes. She came back to life with three doses of Dobutamine after a cardiogenic shock. We gave her BZDs to stop the seizures, but to this day: Day 47, she still continues to be in a coma. End of report.”
What is happening?
“CODE 0! Code 0! Experiment 2457 has opened her eyes! This is big news! A break through for medical science!”
The room is white, but later on my vision started clearing out. There are faces. Who are they? Angelo...is that you? Am I in heaven?
“A-a-nge--lo...?” I try to speak, but my throat is awfully parched. The tube that I haven’t noticed inside my mouth began to be visible to me, and I realize where I am.
“Experiment 2547 has survived.”
All of it came back to me in a rush. Those needles, blood...so much blood...that drug--rape. I can’t believe this. Angelo, the person I love is a lunatic. No...no...NO! Angelo is the person I love. This can’t be. He isn’t this person!
However, I fear that it might be true.
It has to be, because all this while I was sleeping...the numbness from under there, and the needles stuck onto me became quite clear. The eyes that stare maniacally at me right now is him.
Angelo.
...and I am his victim in Mexico 1983.
#fiction #shortstory #prose #victimsofwar #rape #challenge #May