18. The Kidnapping
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| "Kidnapped" by Luke M., PhotoAlterations |
That night, Dindi was kidnapped.
* * *
* * *
You never forget the night they come for you….
…Shuffling in the dark, followed by silence. You wake up with your heart already racing. Intrusive smells, chalk paste and feathers. Sweat. Beer. Heavy male breathing.
Their
aim is to terrify you, disorient you, and they succeed. Grotesque heads
loom over you, claw-like hands grasp you, yank you to the hay-strewn
dirt in the goat pen under the loft. More hands smother your scream.
Their
aim is to strip you of dignity, of comfort, and they do this literally.
Horrible things, uglier and taller than men, surround you. They shove
you from one to another, casual but brutal, tear off your clothes, smack
your bare flesh, gag you and snag your wrists behind your back with
scratchy twine. Beside you, your clan sister Jensi suffers the same
abuse. Tibi cowers in a corner of the goat pen, but the kidnappers
ignore her.
They
herd you into the courtyard. Whitewashed adobe reflects the moonlight
like bone. Night leechs color from the intricate designs painted on the
houses, so the buildings look strangled by black nooses.
Firelight
winks on a dozen naked captives, all in a line, a snake winding around
the houses, preyed on by monsters. For a moment, you think the monsters
are fae, some hideous sort, trolls or harpies, but fae do not carry
torches or cast shadows. Fae glow with their own light. The kidnappers
must be men in masks and mantas. As the enemy Tavaedi warriors shuffle
and cavort, deformed shadows spring up to dance beneath and between
them.
Their
aim is to crush you, to grind you down like corn meal. They steal your
senses one by one. You’ve already been gagged so tightly you find it
hard to breath. Now they blindfold you. Have you ever had black cloth
wrapped so tightly you can’t see a torch held right next to your face?
No, you’ve only played at it, in children’s games. Real blindness,
forced blindness, petrifies you. They shove a hol- lowed tree drum over
your head, then pound it, assaulting your ears. Your hearing and
balance, gone. A heavy basket, a mountain of stones, is forced onto your
back. Your knees buckle under you, you want to collapse and cry, but
you can’t afford weakness. A switch against your thighs drives you
forward.
You
hate the switch, the ropes, their rough hands, yet, in your
helplessness, you crave even the touch of these things to guide you,
assure you the rest of the world is there, that you aren’t lost alone
blind and deaf in the dark.
Their
aim is to keep you so exhausted, so helpless, you can’t think beyond
surviving the next step, and the next after that. They never let you
rest, they hit and curse and threaten you. They force-march you down a
narrow trail through bushes and trees that slap you. Occasionally, you
trip, slip, bump against another captive tied in the line, and this
brief rub of flesh on flesh reassures you that you aren’t alone…
TO BE CONTINUED
Author's Comments
I
was kidnapped once. I was a cheerleader, and it was part of the hazing
for the Senior boys from the band to kidnap the Frosh girls from the
dance squad. I in no way objected to this kidnapping (I was really
looking forward to it, in fact) but there was one girl whose parents
opted out on her behalf because she had actually been kidnapped as a
child, and they didn't want her to have any traumatic flashbacks.
Comments