The Irony of it All

30

The long bumpy ride finally came to an end when their transport slowly rolled to a halt. Normally, Natasha found the stopping part to be the bad news, because it usually meant she’d reached the boss of the boss’s boss who wanted to find out what she knew, or this was where they were going to kill her. But right now, she was thanking whoever was willing to listen that they’d stopped the wretched vehicle.

 Maybe it was that missile, and the ache throughout her body, or maybe it was the hunger and the fatigue, but whatever it was, coupled with the hours of bumpy, harsh road, she felt sick. Nauseated, green, about to hurl...whatever you wanted to call it. She just knew that she hadn’t felt this sick since her first trimester ended. And she’d never felt this sick before then.

The heavy steel doors squealed as they were yanked open. Natasha was then forcefully yanked out of the cell, her muscles, bones, and burned skin screaming in protest as she was dragged, stumbling to find her footing as she landed on solid ground. 

The bright, white light of the outdoors made her throbbing head pound. She usually liked blue skies, sunshine, and warm weather, but she was a prisoner, who was in pain, pregnant...Do I need to go on? It didn’t matter how many reasons she had, she didn’t need a single one to curse the Sun and sky for being too happy. At the moment, she felt like killing the next person that had the audacity to so much as sincerely smile. 

Her hands were cuffed as soon as she was steady, if not before. She squinted and blinked as her eyes adjusted to being outside. “Natal’ya, my dear girl,” came the sickening voice of Ivan Petrovich as he came into view. Just when she thought she was feeling better, that nauseating feeling was back. “Welcome home.” She stared at him, the word turning in her mind,  the pieces clicking into place. Home. And then she finally lost the battle within her and threw up… All over Ivan’s fancy, Russian boots.

    Ivan simply laughed, and shook off his boots. His leather glove snapped as he pulled it off his right hand. Natasha had just managed to wipe her mouth a bit when her chin was harshly grabbed and yanked upwards. She found herself staring into Ivan’s cold brown eyes. He was smiling maliciously. She could sense how he was almost shaking with excitement, like he had something he had up his sleeve and the thought made her spine shiver.

    She struggled to keep up as she was practically dragged across her old playing grounds. Her body, heavy with child and her legs still sore and half asleep from the journey made it less than easy to fall into step with the fast moving, Russian muscle on either side of her. 

      She couldn't exactly focus on her surroundings, but she didn't need to. She knew this place inside and out. Every nook and cranny engraved in her mind. She could still smell the gun powder, the sweat, the blood, and the bleach. It suffocated her, the memories clawing to the surface against her will. She was afraid to look down at herself, half expecting to see the crimson life force of her playmates and sisters, running through her fingers, and coating her smock. 

     It wasn't until she found herself in the shadow of the main building that she knew all to well, that her fear and instincts finally kicked in. The Russian muscle stood no chance against the Black Widow when she struck suddenly and without warning. Both men were dead before they hit the ground. It took only a couple of seconds for other guards and officers to react, shouting in Russian and lunging at the red haired woman. Her movements were liquid fire, her desperation to leave this aweful place fueled her, making her even more dangerous.

     You've no doubt heard the metaphor of the "caged lion". The lion that chases after you is far less dangerous than the lion that is surrounded and trapped, if you can believe it. Because fear and desperation cause situations to escalate. The world you and I live in makes this painfully clear. Twelve men, bad though they were, didn't get to go home to their families that day because they underestimated a "caged lion".

      If Natasha had been herself, perhaps she would have pulled her punches. She didn't have time to mourn the extra blood on her hands though as bolts of electricity were drilled into her back. She cried out before slipping into the sweet call of peace and darkness.