It’s day eight. I screamed. I don’t know why. It felt so good. I had been in my head for eight straight days, I forgot I had a voice. It sent chills down my body, places if forgot I could feel. My company did not enjoy the scream as much as I did. He immediately spun around, his eyes wildly picking apart the area trying to find the source of the disturbance. When his eyes fell on me, I recoiled under his relentless gaze.
“Don’t do it again.” He retorted. My legs felt like jelly, my limbs turned to glass. Not only could this man speak, he could speak English. For the first time in nearly 4 days, I felt a different emotion welling up inside me. It felt hot and twisted, hungry and alive. I was enraged.
“Where are you taking me.” I wheezed, my voice hoarse and tender.
“Judgement,” he explained.
“Judgement by who? For what,” I replied.
“Your life,” he whispered. At first when he talked, I thought I would want to ask as many questions as I could. I changed my mind. The silence is less painful.
It’s day nine. We are getting closer. The trees thin out, the grass becomes a dirt path. The terrain loses its beauty. It's quiet grace and dignity, the sprawling trees and colorful plants. We encounter more like my “savior” as I once called him. They seem very similar, wise and stern, their judging gazes glazing over every nook and cranny one had to offer. They all wore traditional clothes, intricate patterns weaved onto elegant fabrics. My conversations with my savior become more in depth, exchanging our stories, mine of death and his of excitement. A wife, four kids, and a home to return to. All things I took for granted.
It's Judgement Day. The Chief stares me down. I look away. He maintains his intense gaze for around 10 minutes. He takes actual notes, unlike my savior, keeping track of all my features and injuries gained during this unfortunate adventure. I was not much