Disclaimer: I wrote this short story several years ago. It was a time when ISIS was being spoken of everywhere I went and it made me terrified. I could only think of me or anyone of my loved ones placed in this situation where we would have to make a horrible decision. If you are offended, I do apologize, but as a creator influenced by world events this story is dear to me.
I didn’t expect this to happen.
To be held at gun point. A pistol to my face by a masked man.
I gazed into his soulless eyes, pupils dilated wide.
I hold my hands up feeling my heart fight its way through my ribcage and my flesh.
“Who do you follow?” The man shouts. He wags the barrel in my face. I shake my head in bewilderment and force my knees to retain their strength.
“I said who do you follow.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I say.
With that being said, blackness falls before my eyes with a bard blow to the back of my head.
When I regain consciousness I feel my back scrap against pebbles, then grass, and finally a cold wet pavement. There is a wincing sore on the side of my head.
I gaze around through a blurry sight. Bars. A pale grey wall, and a steal toilet. There’s a bed, but what’s left of the mattress has been torn to shreds. I sit up and softly touch the goose egg suddenly realizing I’ve been thrown into a cell, but not alone. A whimpering woman is balled in the corner. She mutters uncomprehending words to herself, but moments sitting in silence cause her to laugh in maniac hysteria. My foot slides on the floor. She hears and spins her head to face me, eyes bulging and bloodshot.
“Who do you follow.” She inquires through a trembling mumble. The same question as before and I’m clueless on how to answer.
“What are you talking about?” I speak.
“It’s what they will ask you.” She says breathing hard. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“A sudden question. No time to prepare. Except now that is.” The woman’s eyes dart from side to side. “There’s more in here. You can hear their screams.”
Panic suddenly consumes me and my ears raise up to catch the sounds she is talking about. I mentally pray that the shouts for help are within her own mind, but they are real. Ricocheting off the walls of the prison hallways.
“So.” She calls out to me. I look at her as she grins. “Who do you follow?”
I open my mouth and before I could even say a word the bars are ripped open.
I jump startled. The woman lets out a horrid shriek. I gasp at the sight of two men with faces covered in black scarves. One taller than the other and more muscular takes me by my wrist and throws a bloody pillowcase over my head. I fight my hardest by jerking my body around, but an another blow is sent to my skull. Hard enough to retain me and light enough to keep my awake.
Through the red stains on the light fabric I can see only dimly what what’s happening.
Again I’m being dragged out across the concrete ground. My cell mate is behind me, grasped by the other man. She yells and curses him. I thrash my head from side to side so forcefully the pillowcase falls off. Her legs swing wildly in the air and she miraculously manages through constantly shaking of her body to slip from his hold.
“Run!” I scream.
She rips the pillow case from her head and shoves the guy into the wall. I watch full of joy and hope that she will return with help until four bullets slam into her back as she attempts to flee. My body becomes limp on sudden reaction. Her body falls with a hard thud and the two men laugh. If I move anymore, I’ll end up just like her.
He never releases my arms and continues to pull me like a heavy sack of potatoes down three long corridors. His comrade catches up with him, slips the pistol he used on the woman into a holster, and throws my retrieved pillowcase back on my head. He rips off my shoes and throws them behind. Then my socks and by the ends of my jeans, my pants easily slide off as I’m being dragged. They both snicker as I’m left with a light shirt and underwear. I beg to God they won’t remove anymore. Just kill me. End it all without suffering.
“Please.” I cry. He releases me and continues to laugh. The mixture of sweat and blood turns my stomach. I then feel drops on my legs and torso. I raise the case higher above my eyes and see that they are releasing globs of mucus filled spit on me.
“Stop!”
“Shut your mouth!” The huskier man growled and slammed his steel toed boot right at the center of my abdomen. The blow is so strong, food from inside travels back up my esophagus and I vomit up chucks of undigested meat. My mother cooked beef pepper steak and rice. I failed to give her a kiss goodbye and tell her how much I loved her.
Before I could wrap my arms around my stomach, he takes hold of me and heaves me down the remainder of the hallway into a room. The other guy tightens his mask and checks his gun. I hear it click as well as scared cries, muttering, and chattering teeth from the cold.
He stops and raises me up. The pillowcase is pulled from my head and I make eye contact with several others on their knees with their hands cuffed behind their backs. More men surround them with their faces covered and wielding either guns or sharp knives. The room is more frightening than the situation. I will die in a cell that is chipping white paint and shards of glass on the floor from a broken window that allows a small ray of sunshine to pass through.
I’m punched in the jaw. I fall back down on my side with the taste of blood and regurgitation now in my mouth. The prisoners turn their heads away from me and lower them. Two more men surround me and from every angle fist and shoes make contact with my body. They beat me for a long minute to the point I have no strength to raise my head. The man who dragged me, lifts me up and heaves me into the line. Another assist him to cuff my hands and placing shackles on my ankles that are linked to the fourteen others.
My body is weak. I lean up against a man who appeared to have suffered more. He has a large gash on the side of his face that is still bleeding and two blacked eyes, yet seeing me he warmly smiles and scoots closer to hold me up by his shoulder. If his eyes could talk they would have said “everything will be ok.”
We all know what this is. The masked men, we see it for a short time on television, but never would have thought it would reach this far beyond the screen onto land. Their stances are hostile of course as they hold weapons. Terrorist. More frightening than the horned monsters with sharp teeth and red eyes. Somehow they penetrate deep within your soul like watching a suspense flick. We know what’s coming, but can’t determine when.
“Who do you follow?” The black-eyed guy softly whispers and keeps his head low.
That question again. I break down into loud sobs. I don’t know who I follow or who to even trail behind. I don’t know what’s going to happen if I even say a name. I don’t know or understand why out of all the people in the world did I have to be thrown into this nightmare.
“Shut up!”
Behind us shouted a man. His voice is deep and cracked. We all cower as his heavy footsteps approach fast and in front of us. Instantly we all assume he is the leader as the others straighten themselves up at his presence and one brings him a cellphone and a camcorder.
He sets it up on a tripod. I see there is a red dot. It blinks on and off repeatedly signaling its recording. Mortified, I drop my head like every other prisoner. My mother will be seeing this after wondering where I have gone. Why didn’t I call her to tell her I made it home safely? She will break down and pass out in disbelief.
“Stupid Americans!” The leader breaks the silence. He lowers his mask revealing a thick, black beard. “I see every day. Stupid spoiled Americans. You cry now? I see worse. Baby cry because toy fall and crack. Parents by another toy.” He balls his fist and wags them in front of his eyes with a child’s brawling face. The others laugh. He frowns and paces back and forth before us. When he looks at me, he stops. The guy hunches his shoulder to get me off of him. I sit up using what strength I regained. He continues to walk.
“Americans.” He spits on the ground. “You follow crazy politicians. Celebrities. Your own friends. They don’t care about you. No!” He shakes his finger at us. “They will see you and fear for own lives now that we are here. You Americans don’t even follow your God. You follow yourselves. You put trust in money, house-
“I trust in the Lord with all of my heart!” A prisoner at the end of the chain abruptly barks.
The leader aims a menacing glare at him and stands still. My eyes move from him to the prisoner rapidly. The others do the same extremely fearful and shaking harder.
He looks at one of his other men and nods his head. A gun is raised. I shut my eyes and flinch at the several pops of ammunition being fired swiftly. When I open them, blood from the prisoner spills from his body on the floor. Everyone screams including myself in sheer alarm.
“Jesus Christ!” A woman shrieks. She gets executed when the leader orders a blade to her throat. The steel against her flesh as its shredded open sends an eerie grinding sound.
I shout at the recording camera for help as questions race through my mind. Is this live via internet? Are people watching this? If so, the viewers will be faced with the ultimate decision to help us in time before we all end up dead. But that’s unlikely to happen. This madness will not stop. Like the leader said. They are here now and we are the first to send out the threatening message across the world.
Who do we follow that will save us? That nutty politician that he spoke of? The celebrities who only use us to help themselves? Our friends who will only worry about themselves or their own families?
The head of the group steps in front of the camera before us and points at it with a gun. He beings speaking a language of a different culture. Then switches to his poor English.
“This is it America. You are in our hands now.”
I drop my head and pray my mother isn’t watching this.
