*this story is set in the future, so most events, people, weapons, places and objects are from my imagination :)
Any references to real events or facts may be inaccurate...sorry
And finally, please comment any improvements or techniques I could use, or just make my day by giving praise! :'D
Oh and P.S, this my story bro, don't copy it:) -meeeaaaahh*
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THE NEW GIRL
She's a new girl. I know. Not just because I've never seen her before, but when you've lived here for seven years you start to notice more. The way she's looking around, innocent and vulnerable; the way he holds herself; the terrified look on her face, like a hunted deer. But most importantly, she can talk.
I still remember the days when I could talk. I remember a lot of things. That's all life is to me now, memories. Mostly I remember my sister, and my mum and dad. I think of my old friends sometimes. It's hard to make friends here, seeing as you're always working and you can't talk. But the memories that stand out the most, as if they were mangled scars on the skin of my life, are the days in which I was captured.
In a typical situation, I might've been grabbed on my way back from school. I could've been stolen in the park at night, or in the woods, like any normal kidnapping. But not me. I was kidnapped in my own home.
I don't know what woke me up that night. Wether it was the sound of the car outside my house, rumbling like a hungry dragon, or the crunching footsteps, like clomping jaws, I don't know. What I do know is that straight away, I knew something was wrong. When a car appears on your driveway at 4:32am it is usually not a good thing, so you can imagine how I felt. Then it all happened in a flash of stinging eyes, screams, shattered glass and tears. I can't remember the details; I made myself block them out. But I can still remember the way my body froze as I heard the door crash down. The way my heart felt sick as I wandered into the hallway to be met by two silhouettes, and the barks of my dog Pablo as they kicked him into the ground. I remember the sound of my scream, piercing the air like a siren. I remember the needle-like pain in my eyes as they set the tear gas free on our house. But the thing that haunts most is the screams of my family.
I couldn't see anything, but I know for a fact that they bundled me and my family in a van of some sort, like we were infected cattle that were no longer any use. I think I was out cold most of the journey, but it must've lasted for a couple of days because the gas wore off halfway through, and then there was still about another days travel. Me and my mum and sister were in the van, but my dad was nowhere to be seen. I never saw him again.
That was when I was 8, I'm 15 now. I think. After they captured us, they took me and my sister to Camp Noglastia. I don't know what it means, but it's the place where they take the kids ages 6-16. Anyway, there, they separated us and put me in a metal room. I won't sugar coat it. They cut out my tongue. I don't like to think about the pain and the feeling. I think it's so that if we ever escape, we can't tell anyone about what happens. But seeing as you could just write it all on paper, its probably just because they can.
My sister works in a different section to me, so I haven't seen her since. I probably wouldn't recognise her anyway; she would look so different now. I don't know what happened to my mum.
And that's my story. Not that I can tell anyone.
I see the girl tense as a hand is placed upon her shoulder, thick, strong, and wearing a black glove. They wear black gloves here, as if touching us will infect them with misfortune. They wear black everything, even balaclavas, so they end up looking like dark faceless spirits. I know where they are leading her. They are going to do to her what they did to me and everyone else in this godforsaken place. They'll strip her of her clothes, and however much she struggles and screams they'll cover her body with the itchy, torn uniform, identical to everyone elses. There they will not only take away her clothes, but her dignity, her rights, and her speech.
But it happens a lot here. I want to do something, but i know i can't. They'd kill me on the spot, ive seen them do it. It's not like they need us here, they've got plenty of others.
That is why I didn't help her. That is why I didn't help anyone, even myself. I wish I had done something now, but how was I supposed to know that in a few hours, this one girl would change my vision forever...
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YOU ARE READING
Death Camp
Terror"I still remember the days when I could talk. I remember a lot of things. That's all life is to me now, memories. They rush around my head, too many to control. But the memories that stand out the most, as if they were mangled scars on the skin of m...
