THE GOOD ABDUCTION

THE ARRIVAL

Part 3
And the bell's done rung
And the crowd can't hear you
And all that I can see is a building burning
(I just gotta rescue my baby)
But you don't even recognize me
~Enrique Iglesias~Away~

As I stepped onto the bus, my mind was consumed with thoughts of my mother's words and the uncertainty of ever seeing my younger sister again.

Finding a seat amidst the already full bus, I settled in, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon me. The atmosphere was tense, everyone still reeling from the events that had transpired.

Suddenly, amidst the somber silence, a familiar voice pierced through the air, calling out my name. I turned to see Brenda and Lina, my heart swelling with relief at the sight of my friends. At that moment, I knew that everything was going to be okay. We huddled together, drawing strength from each other's presence as if vowing never to let go.

As the bus began its journey, the reasons for their early arrival remained a mystery. But one thing was certain: from this point forward, our lives were in our own hands.

With no parents to guide us, we would rely on each other, navigating the uncertainties of the future together.

As we journeyed on, I found solace in the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I had my friends by my side, ready to face whatever may come our way.

As we sat there, amidst the quiet hum of the bus, my gaze wandered across the seats and settled on a young boy, no more than eight years old, cradling a crying infant in his arms. He looked lost and bewildered, his attempts to soothe the infant proving futile.

"Hey, bring her here," I called out to him, sensing his frustration and the baby's distress. Without hesitation, the boy made his way over to me, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Is she your sister?" I asked gently, as I settled the infant onto my lap. The boy nodded, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion and worry.

In his trembling hands, he held the baby's formula, and I reached out to take it, offering it to the hungry infant. With a sigh of relief, the baby eagerly latched onto the bottle, her cries gradually subsiding as she drank.

In the warmth of my embrace, the tiredness seemed to wash over her, and before long, she was peacefully asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with the gentle sway of the bus. And as I watched over her, cradled in my arms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of connection with this young boy, bound together by the shared responsibility of caring for our loved ones in a world that seemed so uncertain.

As the journey stretched on, the bus continued its relentless path through the dusk-lit landscape. It was springtime, and the lingering light cast a beautiful orange glow across the horizon, illuminating the vast brown walls and imposing gates that loomed ahead.

It was a sight reminiscent of an ancient structure nestled in the heart of the Libyan desert, evoking a sense of both awe and trepidation.

Inside the bus, a sense of unease hung heavy in the air as passengers strained to catch a glimpse through the windows. The taller ones craned their necks, blocking the view for the smaller ones who could only watch in frustration.

Murmurs of fear rippled through the crowded space.

"What kind of place is this?" someone whispered anxiously from behind me, voicing the thoughts that echoed in all our minds.

The building before us loomed large and foreboding, casting a shadow over our collective spirits. It was easy to imagine the worst, to fear that we were being led into a trap, destined for a life of servitude.