Chapter 10: Mister

It's way past midnight now, although I'm not quite sure what time it is. Either because I'm not in the right state of mind or because the days keep passing by without a care for life itself. My mind's hazy but I remember the darkness of the night and the moon acting as a guiding light; although it was hiding behind the clouds.

I wonder if the moon too feels pity for us, enough for it to not want to witness this cruelty. Because I've noticed it barely shows itself. It hides behind the sweet cotton-like clouds. Although it is always there. The solitary celestial being—the moon—quite like myself, it seems like it's trying to comfort me. I wonder if it's just my wishful thinking or perhaps I have become so lonely, I'm now making imaginary friendships with the moon.

The bad guys had found me digging and captured, they only had to punch me once for me to fall so that they could drag me. I didn't really try to resist either, it's pointless anyway. As they drag me by my arms, we come across someone. I don't really bother taking a look at them. What's the point anyway?

"What's going on here?" a deep and serious voice—as if it were devoid of emotions—spoke.

I recognized that voice. I've heard it before. Curiosity takes over me and I lift my face to take a look at him and my eyes lit up for a second. 'Oh! It's him! The handsome guy from the antique shop. What was his name? I heard it before but I don't quite remember it. It started with a V or something.' He seemed so different right now. Perhaps because of the setting we were in. I was a slave and he was one of the terrorists, he seemed more intimidating than when we first met. His eyes seemed somewhat different, as if there's a strange enchantment on them. Its dark so I can't quite grasp why his eyes seemed to shine but I know it's not just because of the scar over his left eye.

"Velaris!" One of the bad guy's spoke and I remembered—Oh right! His name was Velaris— "This insolent slave has dared to, not just sneak out past midnight but also took out the spear with the head that was on the wall of fear."

'Wall of fear' Is that what that wall is called? Then I guess they hang heads on spears quite often as display. It's a very befitting name, not quite creative though.

I wonder why I'm so obsessed with names being creative. I'm pretty sure I couldn't come up with a creative name either but whatever...(although I knew very well that focusing on names or anything similarly unnecessary or useless was simply a habit of mine to distract myself from the helplessness creeping within me. Pretty weird, aren't I?)

"We plan on taking her to Maurin." The same guy spoke again.

'Who the hell is this Maurin dude now?' I thought to myself, 'Why are there so many names...it's giving me a headache' I rolled my eyes.

Velaris pauses for a brief moment and says, "Maurin isn't available at the moment. So you won't be able to meet with him." Then he glances at me and says, "Take her to 'Claret' instead and lock her up there. I'm sure that will traumatize her enough to not do anything stupid again."—Now what the hell was this 'Claret'? —I wince to myself. I wasn't expecting any sympathy from him, afterall we were nothing but strangers. But I didn't expect him to want to traumatize me. I wonder if he even remembers me in the first place.

"We shall do that." The guys oblidge and take me to a another ruined and grim looking building somewhere a little outside of sclavus urbs. They drag open it's rusty and ruined old gates making a screeching noise and push me inside so that I fall to the ground. Behind me they close the doors, leaving me completely alone, abandoned in this strange place. The place was dark at first but it quickly lit up right after the doors closed. A malfunctioning yellow bulb, barely hanging on, lit the place bringing to earth a scene from hell itself.

"Ohhhh! He was right! This will traumatize me for eternity. They should have simply taken me to that Maurin dude instead. It would have been better than this at least." I mumble to myself trying to crack a joke or something, trying to look away from the horrific scenery before me. My body trembling slightly.

The room was probably spacious but it was cramped with dead bodies. Sitting there in the middle of it all, it seemed like my world was stained red, that disgusting shade of blood red. It seemed like a massacre had taken place in this room because of the gruesome and barbaric state of it. Piles of dead bodies, a bloody mess, scattered around like grains of sand in a dessert. The blood was everywhere, the floor, the walls, even where I was sitting, I noticed my clothes had become dirty and I quickly removed my hands from the ground and they were stained with blood. I start panicking, the stench of blood and corpses filled the room, it was so strong, I felt I could puke.

Suddenly Eve crossed my mind, and I wondered 'Was Eve's body also here?' but I merely crouched down in a corner, pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them tight and the voices in my head filled it with fear and anxiety.

'I don't wanna know. I don't wanna find out. I really hope I don't find Eve in here. It's all too much. I wanna get out of here. I wanna go home. I'm tired. Please stop. Please make it stop. Haven't I seen enough?'—countless thoughts flood mind. I fall into a state of panic. I'm sobbing and trembling helplessly now. 'I hate this! I hate myself! I hate how helpless and miserable we are…' I buried my face in my knees.

They say there's a reason behind every happening. I wonder what the reason in me being shown this hellish view could be...

Just then, I hear some rustling. I instinctly become alert. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here. Only dead bodies, unless they become zombies. But come on...zombies aren't real...right? what do I do? My paranoia is getting worse, I'm gonna start panicking more. Gotta stay calm.

I speak up, loud but with a quivering voice, "Who's there?!"—no answer.

I move closer to the pile of corpses. It suddenly crossed my mind, Perhaps someone's still alive.

"Is...Is anyone there?" I think I see a movement, I move closer and something grabs my foot. I leap backward, fall to the ground, panting, terrified.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?????" I yell out reflexively.

And then I notice, it's a person, a man, probably in his forties or something. His classic dressing style made him seem like he was a man of some high position, not a slave, that's for sure.

He's dying, he's bleeding profusely. His clothes are brownish red and I have a feeling that they were not originally that colour. That they were dyed red from all that blood. I pick myself up and move closer.

"Hey...you alright?" I ask him. And the voices in my head run wild again—Of course he's not alright, he's literally half dead! He's breathing so heavily, I can hear him clearly. His breathing is ragged and uneven. He's covered in dirt and blood from head to toe. I wanted to do something. Should I call for help? What the hell am I thinking?! They literally threw him into this hell of a graveyard. Who'd bother helping? I might probably end up as dead as him too.

"Umm...what do I do..." I mumble to myself. And then I simply decide to at least pull him out of that pile of corpses. I drag him out to the corner, I was sitting in. He winces in pain. "Sorry...I...don't really know what I'm doing..." I apologize unconsciously. He's staring at me intently. I try to check what caused him to lose so much blood and I notice gunshots, holes all over his body and am flabbergasted. How was this man still alive?!?!

Since I can't exactly save him and I know there's no saving him either, I just sit by his side, "Sorry...I wish I could help you..." I say, pathetically. He must be in unimaginable pain. I feel terrible for him. And so I pull him closer and place his head on my lap and I couldn't help tears rolling down my cheeks. Maybe he can rest a little bit more comfortably this way, surely it's better than being in that pile of corpses. I know this might seem stupid but perhaps he can at least die with someone on his side, even if that someone is also just a pathetic murderer.

"Who...are...you?" he asks, sounding like a broken recorder.

I look at him surprised he could still speak and simply say, "Oh! No one…Just a miserable slave..."

"Why...do you...cry?" he asks me.

I wasn't expecting such a question. "I don't know..."—I pause—"maybe because I'm disgusted by the helplessness of this situation..."

We sit in complete silence for a while. I can hear the wind blow loudly as it rustles through trees warning about an incoming storm.

"Do you wish…you could make… a difference?" he asks, peeking my attention.

'a difference'? what does he mean by that...like make a change in life?...

"I don't think I'm capable of it. Is there even any way for mere slaves to change anything." I posed it as a question but it sounded more like 'giving up without having ever tried'.

"This is a cruel *huff...and miserable world...The ones who survive are the stubborn ones. *huff...The ones in control are the ones with power...If u want to change anything...you have to get power..."

"And how do I do that?"—This is such a strange conversation but I go along.

"You will have to find a way...Infiltrate the organization…one way or the other...Prove yourself harmless and rise to a position of power...somewhere you will be heard and feared." he tells me with unwavering eyes and a serious tone. He was actually serious about this!

"Who are you, mister?" I ask curiously.

"Just someone who was betrayed by his own people...*huff...because I wanted change..." a melancholy takes over his zombie-like face, "listen well...and don't forget...trust no one... everyone here only uses and discards people... *cough*cough ...so prove yourself useful...but don't let yourself be played...*coughs blood."

"you probably shouldn't talk anymore! Mister." I fidget as I wonder what exactly I can do to help him but I know I can't do anything.

"It's not like talking less is gonna make death any merciful..." he sounds spiteful.

I see his eyelids fluttering and he speak again, like he's in a hurry, because he actually is losing time, he could die any second now.

"The inside pocket of my jacket..." he says through rasping breaths. "hurry, take it..."—but take what? is there something in his pocket? I'm confused but carefully put my hand in his pocket and take out a slightly blood stained, grim looking envelope.

"Keep it safe...hidden...If u decide to make a change in this hellhole...*huff *huff...this will be useful...But make sure no one... absolutely no one finds out about this..." he grabs my hand, holding it tightly as he warned me, "THEY find this envelope on you and the heads of everyone close to you will roll..."

This frightens me and it's pouring heavily outside. I hear a loud thunder in the background, making me flinch. I'm sure that thunder must have hit something. I turn to look at the barred windows.

"Listen well...*huff *huff...if you do decide to rebel...this letter will be of tremendous help to you...but that path will be a lonely one...and you will suffer...but let that suffering strengthen you...Don't let it cripple you!" he still sounded like a broken recorder that was reaching it's limit and would stop working any second now but his words, the seriousness and the pain in his weak, gruff voice that had become somewhat squeaky made me tear up but strangely enough, it also gave me a sense of comfort and strength.

"Oh! One more thing...if you do walk the path of change and rebellion...find Luna...deliver this message...the wind howls..."—his voice trails off and fades into the sound of rain and thunder. He is still muttering something with his eyes half closed, almost dead.

"Hey! No! Mister! Don't die just yet! I didn't hear the next part!!!..."—I shake him by his shoulder— "No...Please...Don't leave me..." tears run down my cheeks as I helplessness watch him drift to eternal slumber in my arms.

'Oh! I didn't even get to know mister's name...'

Suddenly the world was too loud and vivid again. The yellowish light in the room granting my surroundings an ochre hue along with the brick red pools of blood, gave rise to an ugly and disgusting looking sight—like the colour of blood stained vomit—it even smelled just as disgusting.

I began to hate the blood red colour...and yellow—ochre lighting...

The downpour was so heavy and loud outside, it seemed like even the skies were expressing their rage. Screaming and crying with every raindrop and thunder. The storm had caused the trees to shake violently like they were dancing wildly in this downpour. But from within this closed, death scented room, it only sounded like they were going wild with helplessness against the raging force of the storm.

I had asked myself what the reason behind me being brought to this hellish house—room named 'Claret' could have been. It was later that I found out, had I not been left in this blood and death scented room and never had met 'Mister'. I would never have been the person I am today. If it wasn't for this, I would have forever been a slave and nothing more. I guess that was the turning point of my life.