Chapter Two

Two•

See how the world is moving on like there are no captives somewhere, people about facing their deaths or worse.

I have come to realize that death is fair. It is easy. I used to be ready for anything but inbetween living and anything, there is torture; it is a different form of death.

There are bars at my window positioned with close grid spaces. It's where I look out from almost all day. That odd woman has seen me severally sitting on the bed and looking out but she says nothing. She does not seem to mind just like she doesn't mind if I stay in the dark or if I live.

There is a woman who sells humongous fishes, another man sells patterned materials on a table beside her. Two boys hawk essential oils but they are also pick pockets. I have seen only two cars here. They were actually delivery trucks. The major means of transport in this area are bicycles and motorbikes. This seems to be the hidden part of the ghetto.

Nobody here wears formal clothing. Most of them own confectioneries, gambling spots or other small businesses. I wonder what the woman holding me hostage does. She goes out after she brings in my food - which has been just a concoction of weird leaves for three days now. I don't see her on the streets when she returns but I hear the door. Like now.

I move away from the window and leap to the door holding the bars. I wait for her to pass as she always does down to her room.

The keys jingle and she drops some things in a part of the room I think is the sitting room and begins to approach. Her footsteps are almost as silent but because I listen for her, I now hear them.

"Hey," I call.

She leans on the wall facing my door. She's on a Shirt that is too big for her lithe body and combat trousers. Arms folded, she stares at me, seeming bored.

"What do you want to do to me?" I ask.

She leans off the wall. " I'm paying attention to you. Use it wisely."

"Can I get a change of meal?" I quickly say.

She walks away. The woman is so hard to please. How was a request for a good meal not wise?

It would have been easier if it was a man. I would know that one drunken night he would come back with the thing in between his legs swollen. He would come to me, his caged deer to help soothe his aching.

He could force me to my knees so I can please him with my mouth or he could have me on the door, pulling the nest-like mass of hair on my head and grunting in that pleasure that makes them all forget their surroundings. I would have long had an advantage. But with this woman, it was impossible to predict her next move.

I walk further into the room, trying to make good of my legs. I walk from one end of the room to the other. Then I pick a spot and begin to jump. I love the mild pain that comes with each hop. It feels like a massage and also therapeutic. This is the fourth day I'm trying to exercise my leg and by faith or by hope, I feel it's healing faster.

I have missed freedom - the little freedom and the rebellion that came with adolescence. Now that I think of rebellion, I wonder if Kent is looking for me. If he just moved on or if he tried to see me. Was it him or me - the devil between us? Was it me?

It's useless. Nothing will make a difference to the dead but I wonder anyway.

I sit on the bed and feed my eyes with the chaotic atmosphere of the street - the unending busyness, the shouts, the craze. It was easy for a fight to break out here and when it did, people formed a circle around the fighters while someone went round passing a satchel which people threw money inside it.

I wish another fight would break out. It was entertainment for me and the omnipotence amused me; being able to view the fighters and also see the pickpockets and lovers who probably got aroused by blood or violence making out in a corner.

The sky is falling. Another day is gone. I claw at my skin and let out a scream from my depth. I let out another and another. It's not a cry of help. It preserves my sanity. The way the woman ignores my nuisance is beautiful. She must think that's all I can do. I'm also beginning to believe that's all I can do.

At night, girls match out in glimmery attires and wild makeups like predators looking for prey. They line up in no particular order on the streets and wait.

It's around this time also that the odd woman goes out at night. I won't be able to see her in the darkness of my room and the corridor. Other days I rushed to the door and just stared into the darkness. I would feel her movements pause at my door then she continued but today, I don't.

When she walks past my door, I keep looking out the window wondering if she is also among the predators. It is easy to imagine her straight legs showing from a short halter neck dress. But the seduction part and being a lady, it is hard to see her in the form. All she has been is a man.

The window opposite mine, a man places a woman there, fucks her for a minute or less and lets her alone then he moves his lean body away from the window. I have seen that woman at her window several times when she is fully clothed. She looks out just like me. Maybe she's a captive like me.