I do not know for how long I had been unconcious. When I came about, I was welcomed by itches of piercing needles, on the painful knife wound. Slowly, I gained consciousness and realised I was in an unfamiliar medical cave.
A doctor was busy stitching the wound on my shoulder, but just like a very mischievous bedbug, she had not cared to numb my nerves. She had instead chosen to ignore the pleading groans I were making, on a purpose and seeing that she was a medical officer of the raiders' territory, I figured out that someone must have carried me.
The doctor was a chubby middle aged woman in an almost white coat with several tiny droplets of blood, probably my own blood. She was wearing earphones on both of her ears, humming as she enjoyed the common vulgar music using a small mp3 player. I had earlier mistaken it for a stethoscope.
At a point, she left a needle stuck halfway in my flesh, and took her time to change the player's memory card, before proceeding to press it in, also on a purpose.
After what seemed like for ever, she completed her task, inhaling like a newly graduated professor. She tapped my newly stitched wound, maybe to test if it will rip open again. I barely noticed the sharp pain because my attention was all on the rusty needle that had just stitched me, ironically laid beside a pack of new unused needles.
"The new needles are for those who can afford them," she spat with hatred when she saw me looking at them questioningly, "Your kind exist only because the air is free, which I personally believe is also a waste of it!"
"What a quack!" I cursed under my breath... No... That was actually a silent sincere mental description.
I practically run out of the medical cave, wondering what sort of new germs I had probably just acquired.
Outside of the medical cave were queues, longer than railway lines and moving slower than an old tired sloth, with patients waiting anxiously for the single doctor to treat them.
"Let this idiot relax for two hours. ....... Next patient!" The doctor shouted to the two officers guarding the entrance to the medical cave. At first I thought it was somehow a show of concern, but then noted that two hours were nothing near enough. Besides, I was to be let to relax for two hours and then what?
The officers let me pass through.
As I walked out, I noticed a young female being brought by her mother to seek a special guidance from the doctor. She was pregnant and was crying for being pregnant which I found rather ironic, seeing that it was not as a result of rape.
Sure enough and at a cheap payment, the caring doctor was quick to give her a single pill. She called it aftermath terminator pill.
She also promised her a more effective medical procedure in case the pill fails to solve the problem. All in the open hearing of the officers, who perfectly ignored it.
With such determination from a mum, a granny and a doctor, I realised that the zygote will not have any chance to quench its thirst to exist.
I sat on a rock a few metres away and in mood swings recited a poem.
Hurting hearts in sorrow
Lacking, sacking and hollow
In a bad land that wails
With stunning storms and hails
Their faces in fear
Their eyes in tear
Day by day they cry
A change till they try
A melody I hear near
A song nice in rise
A bright light to shine
A dance danced in stance
As the rainy drops drop
To fetch and to quench
But for nice and wise to fly
A change they need to try.
"I don't have to be, just because they are." This idea flashed through my mind after reciting the poem for some time. Whether I dwell in underworld or anywhere else, I will always be me. I am who I am.
Two things I decided then. I will not behave like they do, I mean, like mindless puppets dancing to the tune of an evil hiding puppeteer. I also decided to make things better whenever I can.
Hell, as I viewed it, is not a place, it is people. Any place can be the hell provided that majority of the dwellers there are selfish, greedy and careless enough.
I found that point of argument to be quite logical because even the world I was excommunicated from was not perfect either. Maybe it was bettter than here, but still was nowhere near perfect. Some disgusting practices I find here were also being practiced there, and the permissive society tolerated them.
Well, such reasoning could not make anything easier for me here. However, it revived two vital incentives to press on, hope and purpose.
YOU ARE READING
THIRST IN HELL
General FictionEveryone was eager to eliminate the murderer from the society. The final verdict was made and then I was dragged along the way by merciless villagers who had previously been my friends and my neighbours... for a long time. They all seemed to enjoy t...
