We're Not Gonna Take It

Chapter IX: [S]he is going through the unimaginable

That night, Ben didn't come back to the hotel room.

I called for Ben outside the door that the noodles appeared like they were ready, but Ben didn't respond. I walked down to the lobby, occupied by a sleeping night shift worker and called for him, but Ben didn't respond. Against my better judgment, I walked outside the hotel and called again. Ben didn't respond. That night, I walked through the streets of the desolate capital, calling out for Ben. He never responded.

By midnight, I had no choice to give up and go back to the hotel room; past midnight, it is rumored, is when the police come out and arrest any dissents, bring them in, and torture them until they believe the government loves them and thus killing them, or, of course, until they physically die. Either way, those who are caught, are killed. I didn't know if the rumor was true or not, but I didn't care to find out either; it was possible I was now the last person with a full understanding of what happened in this country. I couldn't afford to let my knowledge die.

When I got back to our hotel room, the pasta was cold, and I wasn't hungry. I was so excited about it before- but now I didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. Dejected, I slowly ate the cold noodles because I knew I needed food, and sat under the barley-lukewarm, blue water in the shower because I knew I needed to. The water didn't get much past freezing cold, but I didn't care. It didn't matter anymore.

I didn't sleep that night. As the new day broke, I threw on a jacket in a haze, and set out to find Ben. I knew it was hopeless before I even left the room.

The weather was mocking me; it was a beautiful day, there were only a few clouds in the sky, and spring could be felt in the crisp air- spring, the spring of the revolution, didn't feel far off. Yet, as I pulled my jacket tight, I knew it was still a long ways off. I was only one person.

Walking through the streets of the capital felt surreal; everything felt disjointed, like something out of a story written by a child. It felt like it wasn't real; it felt like tomorrow I would go to school, like I would go back to that brainwashing institution that I abhorred so much, that I missed so much. Walking through the streets of the capital, I felt lost.

Which was, in part, most definitely due to the fact that I WAS very lost, but that also reminded me of the main reason I felt lost- I had lost Ben.

After hours upon hours of wandering the streets, I somehow found myself back at the hotel by sundown. I approached the door and dreaded walking through it. Should I walk through the old, creaky wooden door, it would mean this was real. Should I walk through the door, it would mean I would force a smile at the nice lady at the front desk, but Ben would not be in tow. Should I walk through the door, I would walk up the stairs, and I wouldn't make a sarcastic comment about how sketchy they were because Ben wouldn't be with me. Should I walk through the door, I would walk into our hotel room, and see Ben's things in a neat stack, where he left them last night. Should I walk through the door, I would have those stupid instant noodles because I can't cook but Ben can. Should I walk through the door, I would be acknowledging that Ben was gone. I took a deep breath, and pushed open the door, and accepted the unimaginable.

Ben O'Brien had been taken by the police.

Ben O'Brien was dead.