A Tear Of Insanity

Chapter 8

Lillith

The back of the van is dark, except for a few streaks of grey, evening light, entering from a small, barred, window at the vehicle doors. There are two seats. Each is a wide, metal bench, one on either side. There are around twenty girls, stuffed side by side, all chained and half dead. A pale, girl sits opposite me, staring, with a strange glint of curiosity in her eyes. I cannot see the exact shade of her hair but it looks short and rather red. She smiles at me, I do not return it, but nod my head.

The van bumps up and down as I lean back, my arms and hands tied down. The journey stretches on like this for minutes that feel like hours. I think of my sister. The way she looks up to me and how I have let her down. The fear she must be feeling right now. I think of Sebastian. His snide remarks, his playful grins, his constant company. Then I realise I could never live without these things. But now I have to. I think of my old school, that I used to hate most of the time. The quiet forest that whispered thoughts of comfort in my mind. Climbing those trees and flinging my daggers. The market that made obnoxious noise but made me feel content all the same. Now I know how my parents must have felt, being taken away, being ripped apart from us. A part of me breaks, knowing that I will probably never see my sister again, just like I will never see my parents. She is probably snuggled up at home beside Reign, Sebastian probably there beside her. At least she has someone to keep her company.

I pause. The house. I slowly move my hands to my right pocket, feeling for metal. To my dismay, the single key to our house, emerges from the fabric. Oh god. What am I going to do. Panic clouds my mind. Where is my sister going to stay? Getting another key means paying money. My leg shakes uncontrollably and I bite my lip, making it bleed. I need to get this to Leila, but how?

In the midst of my waging war, the van abruptly stops. The front door opens, then slams shut, followed by heavy footsteps, leading to the van's double doors. Depressing light enters the compartment, soon replaced with a dozen Dermans, in dark green clothing, all heading to each girl. A middle-aged, white man, approaches me, his expression obscure. He grabs a key, dislodging the chains attached to my feet, placing them under the bench. His strong hands, grab the chain at my wrists without a thought, forcing my arms together and pulling me out of the metal van.

A few metres from where the multiple vans have parked, is the wide station gate with the sign Imus Station, printed in large, white letters above it. A few hundred girls surround me, all anxiously looking around. It seems that only the chained girls are given a personal guard. A muscled, heavy man stands at the gate, pressing a few buttons on a square panel, to which the gates slide into the parallel walls. The Dermans begin to shove our backs to get us moving.
"Alright!" I hiss. He does not react and continues to push me inside.

I enter into a large platform. High walls surround me, made of grey bricks. The roof is covered in opaque plastic with square gaps, exposing us to the howling wind outside. Three endless trains, separated by narrow platforms, all identical to the other, stand on my right, with tainted grey walls, the windows cloudy with dirt and the doors, screeching as they open in unison. Beside them, is an entrance of stairs going underground, the sign UT above it. I catch a glimpse of train tracks down there but the train on the far left is what catches my eye. A different one. A luxurious one, with a deep, velvet hue, slathered in thick layers over its walls. The frames and handles of doors and windows are laced in gold, shining in the bright station lights. Miniature chandeliers hang from the roof inside, lighting up the windows, that are much larger and much cleaner than the others. I steal myself a peek inside. Within it are extravagant leather sofas, matching the velvet walls and strange, marble tables in front of each settee. Arrays of delicate foods and drinks are placed, neatly on the white marble. Food I am not at liberty to think of. A few aristocratic men and women lounge in there, indulging and rather glad that they will finally be away from Imus territory.