Accented Evil

August 13, 2010
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She doesn’t know where she is. Her parents were not paying attention when they let go of her grasp and walked to quickly, leaving her to be swallowed by the crowd in this unknown city. She’s just standing in the middle of the main dirty asphalt road. She has a bright purple scarf rapped loosely around her thin bony neck, and a pretty shaped rock dangling from her six-year-old hand.

A man with dark skin and dark eye squats beside her. “Are your parents here?” he asks, his voice coated in a thick accent. The little girl doesn’t know if she should answer, and stuffs the rock into her jean pockets. They don’t have jeans here. All anyone ever seems to wear are thin white T-shirts and filthy neutral colored shorts. And instead of the red carts with medal handles, they use baskets made from tree roots. This confuses the girl; she doesn’t understand why this place is so different from home.

No one has the same blue eyes she does, just dark, everything is dark. And when it cools down and the sky turns black, her family can’t leave the hotel like they can at home. Her parents keep repeating the same thing over and over it’s not safe out there, it’s not safe out there. The dark man keeps looking at her, “do you speech English?” When he says ‘English’ it sounds like ‘engleesh’. The girl only shrugs with confusion.

“Do you?” he puts his thick hands on her shoulders.

“Yes,” she says. “I do speak English.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know… they walk to fast.”

“Would you like me to help you find them?” Her parents had told her multiple times at the hotel to not go anywhere with a stranger.

“No, thank you.” She smiles slightly, but his grip on her tightens. The man scoops hers her up into his arms and cradles her as if she was just a few months old. The girl shrieks and screams, “No!” She whales, as he shoves her into the back row of his truck, and uses the child lock so she can’t open her doors from the inside.

“Buckle your seat belt,” he orders, looking into his rear view mirror

When they arrive at there destination they’re an hour from where they began. He unbuckles her and swings her over his shoulder as if she were just a sack of potatoes. The filthy room they enter discusts the girl. She looks up at the man still giding her by gripping firmly onto her shoulders, "walk forward," he says patting her gently.
"I see you brought more company with you, you did well, gohave some water and I will take the girl." he looks at the girl pushing her to the left room. There are beds after beds, it looks as if these men had personly torn down everywall in the house with the excetion of the kitchen. The beds were full, all full, except for one. "This one is yours," his accent makes his words difficult to understand. "You get food when we feed you and sleep when you can. Do not ask for anything else or you will be put to the top of the waiting list."
"Waiting list?" she says looking uncomfortably around the room. The man says nothing but walks back to his partner talking Ina language the girl does not understand. The girl turns to the older boy that has the same blue eyes as her, "do you speak english?" she asks him and he nods silently. "Can you tell what they are doing with us? And why they have brought us here?"
"You there!" the man incharge yells, "stop talking so loudly!"
"It's for money," the older boy wispers. He looks to be around the age of 14 but seems to have not taken a shower for months. "They take us here then sell the organs we can spare for a profit." He takes off his shirt to show a long deep scar across his lower stomach, and hops onto the squeeky bed. "It's a shame, but they don't have many to give out to people in there country who really need it, so they take ours, then give it away for money." He flips to his side and looks the girl strait in the eye, "I asked for a glass of water, and instead they cut me open while I was still awake. I had medicine so I couldn't feel it, but it was still scary. That day they took away my kidney and part of my liver, I'm still here because if they need blood or skin tissue for another patient then they have someone otomaticly here to donate against their will."
"Will I ever see my parents?" she asks.
"Im afraid that you probably will not..."
The girl has tears that silently drip down her face and the boy sits up sliding his shirt back on, covering his gash. "Don't cry," he kneels beside her and holds her in his lanky arms. But she does. She cries up until the man incharge of the fosility comes to trade her pink skirt and purple butterfly t-shirt for a white one and brown pants.
She cries when a man comes and jabs a needle into her new friends arm. She cries when he cries, she cries when they need more skin tissue, and wheel him into the place sealed off by bloody curtins. She hears him scream in agony as they cut a piece of his flesh for another patient. When he comes out his face is tear stricken and his arm has yet another bandage, with yet another scar. This time she holds him in her arms, because she is next on the waiting list and she will need someone to hold her too.

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PaperIdeas said...
Jul. 30, 2011 at 4:45 pm
Wow...I love the idea behind this story, and the way you wrote it. Great job!
KellyEmilie said...
May 13, 2011 at 11:38 am
Amazing story!! LOVE IT. Keep writing!!
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