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DISCLAIMER: The short story consists of topics such as sexual violence, sexual abuse, war, prostitution, mentions of death, and child sexual abuse. Reader's discretion is advised.
DAY 1
Gravel and powdered cement prickle my skin, the fine dust stings my eyes and a smoky fog blurs my vision. I look around and see how everything seems to be unrecognizable, the very city I grew up in was now in ruins. My ears are still ringing from the previous explosions near us, and I can’t seem to feel my limbs at all. All I know is that it never stopped shaking since yesterday. “Hurry up!” One of the soldiers yelled as they pushed us around.
My bare feet skid along the hard concrete beneath me, as I mindlessly follow the trail of women in front of me. They were as distressed as I am, some were hysteric, some were silent whilst some were visibly livid about the situation. Pang! A noise was made as one of the soldiers smacked one of the girls with his gun, the girl was kneeling whilst clutching to her head.
By that time, it sank into all of us; we have no choice nor way out. I wasn’t sure of what I was feeling at that moment, it was like I was too drained to even think of anything else. The chaos has taken too much of a toll on me to even comprehend anything. We were taken to a small house, I really wouldn’t call it one, it was more like an infrastructure to shelter the left refugees of the war.
DAY 2
I was wrong, it was far from shelter. More like a pig pen, a poultry, a kennel, a farm. It was not a place for any decent human, but only an animal. I really wouldn’t wonder, that’s how these people look at us anyway. An animal.
This godforsaken place with four walls has no windows for the sun to shine on, nor locks on the doors for privacy. God knows how many other people are cramped up in the room with me, no one speaks just a silent connection of despair and fear.
DAY 3
The people staying with me get taken one by one, and by the time they come back, they look… lifeless. No signs of life nor personality even if they’re breathing. Day by day, they become a piece of flesh, and the longer I stay here the more I get what was going on. On a random afternoon, I got a glimpse of everyone staying with me. There were people of all ages, which made me almost retch everything I ate the day before. Of all ages—which means there were kids. Literal children staying in this hell hole with me, and I wonder what kind of grave they must have done to experience something as traumatizing as this? What kind of mistake did I commit for me to witness and experience something as abhorring as this?
DAY 10
Then it was my turn.
God.
It was my turn.
It was inevitable but I hoped at some point. It was futile, dying like any hope from everybody else. As usual, soldiers went inside our room, looking at us with a motive.
Then he looked at me. I silently prayed. I am not religious but that day I called every god that could possibly exist. I begged silently, pushing my nails into my skin as I chanted. Not me. Not me. Not me.
Step.
I still have so many plans for myself.
Step.
I dream of growing up still.
Step.
Spare me.
The man walks closer to my direction, pushing everybody else aside. Everyone held their breath, I held mine too. How I wished I held it a little longer to lose consciousness. Everything went blank as he dragged me out of the place, the only safe space I have.
DAY 11
I was treated like an animal, removing me from my very humanity. Nothing is left with me anymore. By the time I got back to the shelter, I sat at the very corner of the room. Said nothing, heard nothing, and didn’t move a single inch. The people staying with me looked at me, with sympathy and empathy. A woman patted my hand with her most sincere look. I immediately let out a horrifying sound as I sob into her arms in surrender. I didn’t get to know her name, I don’t need to know either way, we’re all in misery. Once again, the silent connection was there. They understand what it’s like, we have no way out.
DAY 25
Only when I experienced it myself do I really understand what we all are here for. For their comfort. For their pleasure. For our survival. It really wouldn’t one way or another, it would have been death or this. And as I get violated every single day, death would have been much easier to attain than escaping this.
DAY 40
I can’t do this anymore. I really can’t. Until when do we need to get through this? Until when do I need to act like a source of “comfort" for these pigs?
DAY 41
[NO ENTRY SINCE]
DAY ????
I survived. After years, I still lived. Several of the victims were rescued along with me, the war was recently over. It was a long time, but I waited. We waited. I never expected to have that much patience after all that happened to me. But God, I waited like crazy. For days like these to come, to attain freedom once more. For my dignity to be returned back to me, to be human again.
Me and my friends who were rescued along with me, I call them friends now, we’re the only people we trust after all. We were invited to tell our story; I was hesitant at first, but seeing how people are curious and empathized with us, we realized that maybe it won’t be bad after all. We did get to tell people what happened, we were seen, heard, and cared for. All I could hope for is that no one in the coming generations gets to experience what we had, we’re more than enough, no more.
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