Dedicated to Tattoo_Kowalski_93 for the lovely cover she made, see above.
After week of lessons we finally started the journey home. T.B.O.D. led the way, with Mary trailing behind us, providing a lovely soundtrack to our journey, "The bees, the trees and me- moaning'. The scenery was stunning, heightened by the warm weather and the picturesque wildlife. Bees buzzed from flower to flower, flying in drunken circles and butterflies flitted all around, exhausting to look at.
No longer spending my time chattering insistently and loosening my rope hand cuffs, I had more time to think. And I did. My thoughts on the long hike home wondered from everything to the trees we passed to the height T.D.B.O got his hair in the morning. However, my thoughts kept returning to the fear in Mary's eyes when we talked about my home. After recognizing it that once I suddenly saw Mary for what she was.
Frightened.
Brain washed with stories of murder and repression, all the while treated like a china doll simply because of her gender (I once actually heard the phrase, 'pretty little head's used), she was terrified of her darkest nightmare coming to life and, quite literally, eating at her.
The hypocrisy of these people, the kidnappers who yelled for freedom, the sexists who hollered repression, the dictators who screamed injustice, knew no bounds and I was angry, so angry at these people. I almost wanted to march back there and rant at them. I wanted to break through my self imposed barriers and show them what they had done to an innocent girl, to so many innocent girls and boys.
Then I would compare it to my home, full of love, and my society, structured and fair, almost to a fault. While we were in so many ways less free, we were happier.
I was awakened from my reverie when I tripped over a tree root, all those ballet lessons really helping my tumble to the ground be that bit more graceful. Mary laughed, not bothering to hide her giggles. Apparently my obvious embarrassment needed to be intensified. I tried to claw back some of my dignity by simply standing up and continuing on with our walk(so much easier to do when your hands arent tied).
They both followed, Mary still in fits of laughter, but I soon forgot her, instead allowing my excitement to build. At that point we only had one or two miles left before we reached the outskirts of my city. Already I was smoothing the wrinkles out my dress and patting my hair back in place. I started to feel nerves creep up from some place deep inside. I was determined to return back to my old self, perfect in every way but I couldn't help but wonder if everyone would accept me again. I had been gone for almost five months at this point, and Mary returning with me wouldn't let anyone forget it. No one would say anything, not even behind my back, but still...I was nervous.
When we reached the first house T.B.D.O. left us. I can't really say I was sad to see him leave, after all he was condescending, rude and blind to other point of view, but like Mary he was a product of his upbringing and he had got me home again so I wasn't delighted to see the back of him. The best way to describe my emotion would be relief, that another reminder of my time in captivity was gone. I smiled warmly and enveloped him in a hug wishing him the best as I did so. I found myself offering a room at home if he wanted to come with us, driven by some reflex to try and protect him from his group. He shook his head and told Mary to 'take care'. He then just walked off. He didn't look back.
Mary and I stood looking back at the empty road, both of us unwilling to move on, not quite believing we were on our own. The sun slowly descended in the sky and rain started to drizzle down upon us. I pretended not notice that the water running down Mary's face wasn't all droplets of rain falling from above.
Finally, I turned and started to walk again, Mary silently following. The tears that fell down my face weren't for the loss of a friend or fear about what happens next, instead it was the knowledge that from that moment on, any time my captures were spoken of it would be in contempt or anger and there would be nothing I could do to defend them. They were kidnappers, were sexist, were dictators but they wherefore then there fault and I just didn't know how to explain that.
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Angel of Mercy
FantasiI was eight when I first saw a man executed. Nine when I saw the tenth. Ten when I stopped counting. Before each of these men died I dressed their wounds, bought their food, gave them a smile when they expected a frown. I was their hope, the thing t...
