The Truth

Chapter 5

When I was 12 years old I was caught stealing a leg of lamb so that my family could eat. I wasn't intending to eat much myself, as grandfather was beginning to become frail, Bonnie, my sister, needed to grow, and mother needed to feed little Joey, who was only a couple of months old at the time. They needed the protein much more than I did, and at that time I didn't steal unless it was absolutely necessary.

I was arrested and taken first to the small village jail, where they assessed the weight of what I had done, and that's where it was discovered that I had stolen a valuable leg of lamb from the farmer who provided for the authorities. I tried to explain the fact that I hadn't known what I was doing and tried to use my family situation as a sob story. One of them seemed a little more lenient when they found out who my grandfather was, but they had to follow the protocol set out by your father and they sent me to the county jail.

That's where I had the utmost pleasure in meeting your dear sweet daddy. I begged and pleaded with him to let me go, or to at least feed my family. He pretended to be sympathetic but had no intention of letting me go and ended up throwing me in prison. I was told I had to serve a month if no one showed up to bail me out, yet I was not allowed to contact anyone and ask them to come.

 I spent the first three days there without much hassle and bother, with a small bowl of porridge for breakfast and beans and rice for lunch and dinner. It was the first time in a while I'd had three meals a day, so I was thankful for that at least, but couldn't help feeling guilty that my family weren't eating well. But then the fourth day came with no breakfast. And no lunch. And no dinner. After having eaten what seemed like so much in the past few days, I was suffering much worse with hunger than I ever had before. And the complete lack of things to do made it much worse. I wasn't to be allowed out for the twice daily walks around the courtyard until the end of the week. Unfortunately, I also didn't get a meal until then either.

The seventh day arrived and I was stirred from my sleep while it was still dark outside. Two burly men led me to a dark, dank room on the other side of the complex and I sat down on a shabby little milking stool. The only light in the room was provided by a singular lantern on one of the walls, which showed mysterious stains on the concrete walls and floor that I preferred not to think about. Not long after, your father entered the room, followed by the burly men, this time holding a bucket each, which they placed in front of my stool. They both contained water, from what I could tell. An evil grin spread over your father's face as he said,

"This is my favourite bit."

He grabbed the hair on the back of my head and before I knew what was going on and could defend myself, he dunked my head in the right-hand bucket. I gasped as my head was submerged in the icy cold bucket of water, inhaling what would probably have been half a shot glass full of water. It stung like crazy and my brain felt like it had turned into a block of ice. I tried to pull my head up, to cough and splutter but your dad firmly kept me in place there for what felt like forever. Finally he brought my head up, and I spewed the water out from my lungs. Before I'd hardly had a chance to recover he threw my face into the second bucket, and I screamed beneath the water. It felt as if my face was melting, was on fire. The water felt as if it were a thousand degrees Celsius, but of course it was probably a little cooler than bath water. I soon found myself feeling faint, for the scream had expelled too much air. I tried to grab him and pull him off, but I found that my hands had been tied and that I was also tied to the seat. He pulled me back up, allowed me to take a breath and then dunked me back into the cold bucket. This repeated several times until the buckets were finally pulled away and I was untied. I rounded on your father.

"W-why? Why starve me and then do this to me?"

"So that you'll think twice about stealing from your superiors in the future." He said, barely concealing a smile.

And with that he pushed me out of the way and left the room. I easily fell over as I was greatly weakened, but before I could try to rest the burly men were back and practically dragged me back to my cell. As if mockingly, I was allowed on he courtyard walks and was presented with food, not that I ate any of it.

The next week was a repeat of that horrible day, with a nice bit of torture in the morning to wake me up, uneaten breakfast, a walk in which I struggled to not collapse, uneaten lunch, another walk, and uneaten dinner. I couldn't face food and soon became incredibly weak and thin. They couldn't afford to have me dying on them, so every other day they would drag me into a dark room, give me a small bowl of bland soup and threaten me with more torturing time and no time out of my cell at all if the bowl wasn't empty in half an hour. I wasn't convinced so they took to pointing a loaded gun at my shoulder and saying they'd shoot if it wasn't empty in the same time. This motivated me a little more so I ate, but it was still unbelievably difficult and even painful, and my stomach seemed constantly on edge for a very long time after. I'm still not 100% recovered when eating filling food even now.

After a week of hot and cold buckets, they turned to pulling my limbs mercilessly for a week, then making me drowsy with drugs and not allowing me to sleep until that evening, when they had won off anyway, and my two days there they would make a cut on my arm and squeeze citrus juice on it, crippling me with agony.

Luckily, 5 days before my scheduled release, my father returned from his business trip and, in passing the jail, heard that I was in there and why. He rushed at once to bail me out, and luckily he did so before the third citrus cut torture. They bathed me and stitched up my cuts before letting me go, but I was still so weak that my father had to carry me out. He took me home and I couldn't get out of bed for 2 weeks. Father cared for me and fed everyone, being incredibly patient and good with me food wise until I was strong enough to eat properly. I think I slept for a whole day when I came out, but I had concussion from when I fell over in the courtyard and whacked my head the day before leaving, not to mention being so weak, so everything was very much a blur for a while.

The day I went outside for the first time after leaving, 4 weeks after my release, I saw your father lining up 4 of my cousins, 3 younger and 1 older than me, in a field not far from my house. He then proceeded to shoot them one by one. After he had finished, the two burly men, I presumed his henchmen, dragged off the bodies. He turned around and looked at me and smiled, shouting over,

"It's not illegal! I have a license! It's classed as further punishment for you!"

He then laughed, hopped in his car and drove off on his merry little way. I have no clue where they took my cousins, and I couldn't bring myself to tell my family what had happened to them; they just assumed they had been kidnapped. I didn't leave the house for another 2 weeks after that. I still blame myself.

That's what happened. Excuse me if I hate your father's guts.