The Moon | TeenInk

The Moon

September 2, 2012
By emmernemmer PLATINUM, Stockton, California
emmernemmer PLATINUM, Stockton, California
25 articles 0 photos 17 comments

Favorite Quote:
"the pen is mightier than the sword"

The room was dark and damp. The only furniture in the room was the blood stained mattress she was sitting on. There wasn’t a frame; it only sat on the floor. The floor itself was unimpressive; it did not help the cold or the dampness. The only light that ever came into the small room was through the small window they had sealed shut. It couldn’t be broken or opened, shed tried. Her captors had just left, after making sure that the gash in her arm reopened. By this time it was late at night, almost midnight. The moon shone through the window like a spotlight on a dimmed stage.

It was time. She slowly reached under the soiled mattress to grab the knife she’d managed to steal. It had taken a while that morning during the interrogation the men had fought amongst themselves over the food supply, which gave her the opportunity to grab it. It had been an ugly fight; they had killed one of their men. When she had arrived there had been six but now there were four. The first one had died the first week she was here. The second died this morning over a loaf of bread. Her years of training were about to pay off. She had once despised her mother for dying when she was eight and her father for sending her to become an assassin in a camp in North Korea. There the training was not only treacherous and brutal but there she had also been beaten, harassed, and raped by the Korean officials. But now all those years would help her escape. After all, if she couldn’t escape she couldn’t take her revenge out on those who had done this to her, could she? And she was going to get her revenge.

She slowly crept off the mattress and stepped with almost no noise, like a cat, to the piece of wood that no longer could be called a door. The men were sleeping on mattresses probably as soiled as hers. They were supposedly officials from South Korea but she knew they weren’t due to their distinct Russian accents. Their accents match the one of the visiting official at the camp a long time ago, maybe a few years ago. She should have known the mission was a set up. The accents had confirmed that. It had just been a ploy so she couldn’t set the other girls free like she had planned.

The plan had been going so smoothly. She was planning to get out the first group of girls the very next day until a turncoat, who she would deal with later after she dealt with the officials, let it “slip” to the men in charge. They not only hinted at her involvement but also unveiled her friend and one of the officials, who had always been so kind to her, as part of the plot. He had been from her village and sent to the camp a few years before she had. He had looked right into her eyes right until they shot him. He had been her friend. She had grown up with him. They killed him. At that point she knew she had to get her revenge. For him, at least.

She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts but it didn’t work. Her hair did not rustle; they had shaved it off the day she had arrived here. It was almost the first thing they had done. She had cried herself to sleep that night, which was quite unlike her, when it dawned on her that her precious braid was gone. It had been her one constant. Her hair now lay in a mangled heap in the corner of the main room where the men were sleeping.

She rested her now bony hand on the doorknob. It was rusted and ice cold. She willed for it not to squeak as she turned it. Her hopes were fertile. It squeaked, but the sleeping men did not stir. She stepped out into the dim room and felt herself smile murderously. It seemed too easy. She could actually escape. This gave her the freedom to actually ponder her revenge.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the door opened and the leader of the group walked through. She was only halfway to the first sleeping man. Alas, he potted her. It wasn’t surprising since the knife was practically glowing in the moonlight. As the smile leaked off her face he began to smile she had just had on her face. Murder. He was looming over her in a few short moments and grabbed her wrist, making the knife clatter to the cement floor. Using one of her many reflexes, she kicked him hard in the groin. She used this time to kick him hard in the groin. She used this time to grab the knife from the floor. He fought her for several moments as the other men began to wake. She was finally able to plunge through his heart. He was dead before he hit the hard ground.

By this time the struggle had woken the other men up completely. The next man managed to slap her completely across her face before she fought him and brought him down with a lethal cut to his left leg. Even if there was a way a doctor could get to him in time to save his life he would definitely lose his leg. It hadn’t been his first fight either, a fact proven by the jagged scar that ran down the complete right side of his mangled face. She was able to get the next man, this one without any visible scars, in a headlock and expertly slit his throat. He lay there on the floor; the blood from his wound ran down his forehead and into his blonde hair. The last one, the smallest it seemed, also seemed to be the smartest. He maneuvered her so that she was the headlock. Her arm wound reopened even more, which made her bite her tongue so she wouldn’t cry out and show weakness, he would not beat her at her own game. He then held her own knife to her throat and pressed his face into her ear as he whispered,

“Oh so the pretty little spy prisoner girl wants a little fun.” His sour breath was revolting; it made her gag and puke a little in her mouth.

“Let me go please.” She tried to beg, while pretending to act chocked up. The knife was cutting into her throat. He didn’t buy it. Damn him. Damn him and all the others who had done this to her. Damn them!

“Well you’re not going anywhere.” She was able to manage a few fake tears. She hated him so much. She hated him and her father and her mother and their parents and everyone before and after them. A few beads of blood were beginning to drip down her neck.

“Please.” He shook his head to say ‘no’ and buried his face into her neck. She flinched, wanting to get away from him. The only thing she ever really wanted in the world was to get away from him. He just chuckled and took a deep breath, smelling her neck.

“But you’re so fun to play with.” He said, with his face back by her ear. “You’re never going to leave here.” Then as an afterthought he added, “Alive.” This one word sent a shiver down her spine. If he pressed the knife into her throat just a little bit more and she would be dead.

With that last remark he head butted him so his nose began to bleed profusely and ran as fast as she could, grabbing his gun as she ran by on her way to the door. She ran far away from the tiny little hut and picked up her pace when she heard him running after her. As soon as she found a tree that she could actually climb (she had never excelled at tree climbing) she scaled it locking and loading the gun as she went (that she had excelled at). He was far enough behind her to aim. She aimed for his ear and pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground.

When she made sure he was really dead she wasted no time climbing down he tree and running away. She ran farther and farther away from the hut until the trees had begun to change species and began to separate until there were many small clearings. By this time she stopped the moon was directly overhead. It shone like a huge flashlight through the night. For once she was glad to have the extra light so she could run through the forest with little trouble. It reminded her that there was a moon somewhere else, somewhere safe. Dawn would be coming soon. She was determines to be safe by then. She would be safe by then.

She ran for several more hours until the sun was about to rise over the horizon. It looed like it was yawning as it broke the horizon. When she was little she would be so excited to see the sun. She would get up very early just to see the sun rise. But that was before her mother died. It wasn’t until then when she felt safe enough to stop. She stopped at the edged of a wide clearing, breathing heavily. The clearing had only a few trees and bushes. She was finally safe. She couldn’t wait until she could make it to the road and to someone who would help her. It wouldn’t be easy but she would do it. Now she could have her revenge.

The moon was setting on the other side of the sky as the sun came up. She turned in a circle, in case her captors had somehow signaled for back up. She was no longer scared. She was ready for whatever they threw at her. It was time for revenge. But no one was there. She was safe. She would start with the officials, then the b**** who turned her in, and then her father. After that she would free the girls at the camp then take out anyone with similar plans for girls her age and camps like the one she was trained in.

But as she walked into the clearing, she saw that she wasn’t alone.

It was a man, but he didn’t look like anyone she had ever met. The Russians had been fair and blonde while the officials at the camp had been Korean and dark haired. This man was dark and lean, like the moon. He was staring at her, not afraid, but curiously. She walked on the edge of the clearing, staring at him. He did the same but in the opposite direction. Finally he broke the silence.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of who?”

“The girls, from the camp. The agency just bombed there, it killed everyone. How come it didn’t kill you?” They killed the girls. They killed the officials. They had taken her revenge, they had taken her future. She gripped the knife and charged with rage.

He was a skilled fighter, evenly matched with her. But she was fighting better than she ever had before. She was swiping and kicking until she was crying. She didn’t even know it until the man stopped and she felt the wetness on her cheeks. She made one more slash at him but he grabbed the knife. That was when she completely broke down.

“You’re a good fighter.” He said, breathing heavily. “The agency could use you.” She glared up at him, hoping he would just kill her.

“I don’t want anything to do with you.” She said with clear disdain. He offered to help her up. She pulled him down as she got up and grabbed the knife then held it to his throat.

“Hey, hey! Don’t worry. If you don’t want to join, you don’t have to join. Just let me go. But you could get your revenge.” She stopped when she heard the last part.

“I could get my revenge?” He nodded. She stood up and brushed herself off.

“Fine, I’m in.” His eyebrows shot up.

“Okay then.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome to the CIA.”

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