Uprising: An Outlast fanfiction

Log #4: Memories From Afghanistan

When the elevator reached its stop, I managed to stand and walk on my own. Waylon didn't believe that I was at least able to limp, and insisted that he help me.

"Emily, you're hurt. You need help."

"Waylon, look. I'm walking just fine. I'll make it to the hospital wing. You said it wasn't far, right? I'll be okay."

Waylon sighed, giving up on trying to help me.

"Fine. But if you feel like you can't make it, please just tell me. I already feel like shit for leaving you behind once."

We started to walk down the hall, which we soon realized was filled with bodies. Blood covered the walls like a gory  canvas. It was sickening.

"So, um....tell me about yourself," Waylon said, trying to distract us both from the awful scenery.

"Are you sure you wanna hear it?"

"Of course I wanna! Anything to get our minds off of this god awful place."

I sighed, and began to talk.

"Well, I was born and raised in Colorado. I had 3 sisters. My parents divorced when I was young, my mom remarried. Growing up, I wanted to be a dancer. I was a dancer, but only for a short time."

"What happened?"

I was surprised that Waylon was actually intrigued in the slightest by my story.

"One day I just woke up and thought 'screw dancing'. I quit my school's dance team that same day. My mom was pissed. She wanted me to be a copy of my sisters, who were professional dance teachers. But my stepdad wasn't mad. He said that as long as I was happy, I could do anything that I wanted, and that he would support me through anything. I took my stepdad's advice, and I became a journalist. I thought it was a good job. I mean, I was a writer for my high school's newspaper. People kept saying I was really good, so I kept at it. I got into the first college I applied to. Then I finally got that journalist job I'd dreamed of. The thing was, my boss treated me like crap. He was sexist, and rude, and only hired me so he could try and get into my pants. Around the same time that this was going on, Miles transferred to our company from a different one."

I could feel my entire body light up with joy when I mentioned Miles.

"Our boss sent Miles and I to Afghanistan to help out in a Red Cross kind of thing. We were supposed to help bring food and medicine to the refugees and make our company look good. Miles and I had both gone involuntarily. Our boss ran out of time to look for representatives, so he just gave us a 2 day warning to pack our things and head to the airport. I wasn't complaining though. The people were amazing. And it gave me more time to talk with the new guy.

Miles was a sweet guy. He'd always play with the kids at the refugee camps. He was kind to every person he met. And he was the best story teller. When the families heard the sounds of the war at night, Miles would always tell them a story to calm them down. He was so selfless. But his selflessness almost killed him. Coincidentally, the part of Afghanistan that we happened to be in was hit with an awful terrorist attack, and we were taken as hostages.

We spent the next few days trapped in some warehouse, being tortured for no reason. We constantly heard the other's screams, and we couldn't do anything about it. We were helpless.

On the final day of us being trapped, the men just came in and threw me to the ground. They were obviously were going to hurt me. Before they did anything to me though, I caught a glimpse of Miles. And I was terrified.

He had this twisted look on his face. He was angry. He'd reached his breaking point. It was terrifying, to see such a kind person reach such extremes.