The blood was no longer just pouring or seeping onto the floor, it was now gushing out of the box cutter wound on my thigh. He chuckled as he watched the blood gush out of my body, “Meri maarzi, my will.” I struggled to put pressure on the wound as the blood loss was too much, I was bound to pass out soon. I couldn’t, for he’d have his way with me if I did. “Don’t fight it.” I fought with my ever ragged breath. Ultimately, it wasn’t enough of a fight and I fainted.
I’ve always been one with an interest in blood, for I had seen much too much death in the short span that I had lived in this world. It was nothing but a mere fear of how easily one could lose it all and thus could take you away from this life you’d spent years building.
His alarmingly strong scent is one that I still get whiffs of at random times and all of a sudden it’s like I’m back in that place. Back in this world of agony and blood, back in his control. By now, I’d watched five innocent people lose their lives and it was taking its toll. I wasn’t sure if I’d survive any longer, I wasn’t sure I’d want to survive any longer.
Watching all of the blood pool out of someone’s body and spill all over the dust covered floor. Watching the life slowly dissipate from behind the eyes of someone whose name I would never get, someone who had lost it all for doing the right thing. Every single time, I could not help but think they shouldn’t have chosen me to do their good deed with. But now, they were in a better place, or at least that’s what I tell myself to be able to walk around without being in pain.
It was as if this one man, this one entity, was all-knowing and knew which strings to pull to make things hurt more. His first attempt at getting answers, a car battery, and live wires. The sheer agony that goes through one’s body and mind in such an attack is deafening, but in time all that it does is leave marks on your searing skin and mind. In time, the pain isn’t even felt. In time, it’s less about seeing it happen and more of watching the blood drip, drop by drop, onto the floor and wondering if it’ll be over.
His second attempt at getting answers was less about answers and more about the excited look behind his soulless eyes; he had wanted to try this for ages as I’d learn. He invited his partner in crime in. He held a needle in his hand, and it was in that moment that my heart sank, I knew I had lost the battle this time. There was simply no way I’d make it to the other side, and so I gave in as he slid a needle into my body attacking my every sense. And both of them walked away.
The first to change would be my vision, it blurred just slightly. It felt as if the blood was raging up my arm, pulsing with every move. The changes were subtle, a simple relaxation of muscles, blood pulsing, a relaxed sensation kicking in. Oh how I wish I had fought such a sensation, instead I gave in and let it overtake my body. And with that, I couldn’t even put up a worthy fight.
I suppose if I would have screamed louder, longer or harder that he would have stopped but, he never did. I was on my back kicking and screaming until every part of me fell victim to exhaustion. I fell into this term rapidly and unwillingly like most other people do. I had become a victim.
With every breath I took, it was as if the weight of his body was crushing every inch of my lungs piece by piece, much like what he chose to do to my body. With every breath, it was as if more and more blood was pooling on the ground in front of me, wounds still bleeding. And yet, it didn’t stop him. It didn’t stop him from stripping me of my innocence and taking away everything I’d spent years building. One heavy breath after another, he took piece after piece away from me.
And in the end, it still wouldn’t be enough. He’d take a sharp knife and hand it to his son, and ask that the deed be completed. A kid, who couldn’t possibly have been older than me, a kid. He took the knife in his hands and asked to be left alone with his inam, his prize, and dropped the knife. I was nothing more than an item to this kid, that’s how far off he was.
I don’t feel contempt towards this kid, far from it, for he had no chance of surviving in this dunya. He grew up in the ruins of violence with his father acting as a catalyst for what was bound to happen. And yet, I still remember the fear in his eyes when he stepped towards me. A young boy who wished to live up to his father expectation, and so as he bashed a brick into my ribs, he apologized with every hit. And so, as he picked the fallen knife up, and marked his territory, “abbu jaise,” like his father.
“Blood is thicker than anything.” Is it really though? Was it not my own blood who sentenced me to this week long sentence followed by a life of being unable to forget said week? Was it not my own blood who provided this group with the funds to do such a thing? Was it not my blood who chose to abandon me to such a hatred? Was it not my own blood who marked me worthless after everything?
It would be months later that I would learn merely a night had passed when all of this happened. If only it had ended then, if only it hadn’t been merely the first night to pass.
Seemed like many more had passed,
and yet it was only one night that had passed.
How many more ideas did he have to try out?
Too many more to come.
Was it worth the fight?
Khuda jaane.
