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Mouths Open In Silent Screams
It was August third, late night, in New Delhi India. Meera Deepta was embroiled in a recurrent nightmare involving her uncle and her older brother. She would watch them from her window the moment they arrived in the auto rickshaw. They would shoo away the shoeless, dirty children dressed in rags, while carrying a young teenage girl by the arms with force. Meera shrank back, looking into the young girl’s sad eyes, and realizing that she was part of her uncle’s human trafficking business. Selling young girls on the black market bothered Meera so bad that it caused the nightmares to pick at her bones.
As she watched from the window, Meera felt a pang of guilt and responsibility. She knew what they were doing was wrong. The tragedy that was to befall the young girl might never happen if she turned her uncle and her brother in. She tried to push the guilt aside, but it came rushing back like a hurricane. Her rational voice told her that she couldn’t really be blamed since she had nothing to do with the business.
Meera never told anyone about the nightmare for fear of what her uncle might do to her. She pictured him stalking her with a cruel expression on his face that had threats written all over it. Telling anyone about her dream was not an option.
She followed her uncle and her brother with her eyes as they carried the young girl into the building. Her gaze fell on the young girl, who looked up and registered her stare. She sensed the girl pleading for help, but she couldn’t help her because she was experiencing a surge of stubborn family pride.
Then her nightmare got strange, very strange. She was surrounded by several men chasing young girls with guns. Each gun was vomiting bullets as she stood on scorched grounds, and billowing gray smoke. The young girls that were not hit by bullets were running with mouths open in silent screams.
Normally she woke at this point, finding herself drenched in sweat and tears. However, on this day, she was slightly disoriented. It took her a few moments to realize she was gagged and tied.
Meera found herself lying in darkness impenetrable except for a thin, faint stream of light on the damped floor a few meters away. She heard voices speaking English, but she knew she was still in India. Bruised and still had her hands tied behind her back, she rose to her knees and then, cautiously to her feet. The thin stream of light seemed comforting. It was almost like a glimmer of hope.
The voices grew louder and it caused Meera to have a minor panic while irrationally thinking whoever was shouting had her death on their mind.
Someone heard her moving around in the dark. She didn’t know what to do so she leaned against the wall and started trembling. The image behind the steel door turned his attention to her. She couldn’t see his eyes because of the darkness, but she knew he was staring at her. Then there came a voice she recognized.
The steel door opened and a small, disheveled man was walking toward her. As he came closer she noticed the soiled rags tied to his belt, and the dirt ingrained in his skin, and finally, when he was standing in front of her, his muddy mildew smell. It was her uncle, Jamir Deepta.
“You were at that American party,” said her uncle. “I can’t help you now, you’ve been sold.”
The American male walked into the room to look over his property. He commenced a detail inspection of Meera’s person. She stood very still, sensing no malice, or attempt to harm as he touched her skin, and sniffed her hair, then looked into her eyes with a flashlight as though he were a doctor.
When he finished, he stood back and said, with pride in his deep voice, “she will do just fine.”
“Uncle, help me.”
“I’m sorry Meera, its business.”
During the process of showering and throwing on the clothes they purchased for her, she thought about her recurrent nightmares. She looked at herself in the mirror and started obsessing with the words, “I should have done something about my uncle.”
She shattered the mirror with her elbow and took a piece of glass. She held her breath for a second and then slit her wrists. She stepped out of the bathroom carrying the piece of glass in her left hand, she felt proud of herself. Her death was going to start an investigation.
If you enjoyed Mouths Open in Silent Screams you'll enjoy Apartment 415... check it out
© 2013 Frank Atanacio