The Mafia on 6th Street

Locked Away

I sat here for days. Each breath I took seemed shallower than the first.

I've been locked in here for days, hours, weeks, God knows what, and maybe a month had passed. Hours passed by as the pain in my leg still engulfed me and sent me through a series of aches. Throughout the night, my teeth would chatter and then hours later I would be burning hot.

Sweat trickled down my face as my stomach grumbled due to starvation. He had been starving me for days now. Not even a single drop of water. The bottle that was placed during one of the nights here was now crumbled to the ground. My thirst burned through my throat as I suffered through my symptoms all over again. My fever burned through me, like fire through my veins. My wound was probably infected by now.

My wrists burned from the iron chains shackled around my wrists. My wrists were this purplish color as blood oozed at some parts of the bruising.

He was a monster.

I was a victim. But I chose not to be the victim. I chose to be a survivor. I was surviving this, despite my shallow breaths and numbness that indicated that I was on the verge of death. These were my last few hours, perhaps my last day if I survived the night.

The only thing that got my occupied was the memory of my grandmother, the fragments of my mother's face and the voice of my beloved father.

Every time I fell into darkness, and finally given up, they would call me back into the world.

"Saldkiy vnuchka, your time with me, isn't due yet." Grandma's voice called out, partially in Russian. (Sweet granddaughter)

"But Teta, I would see Mama and Baba again." I replied.

Teta shakes her head as her hand grips my shoulder and locked her emerald eyes with mine. A spark of fear and regret flashes within her orbs. "Some of us are in darker places, Angelina."

A gasp escapes my mouth. "Baba isn't here with you and Mama?" How could they not be here with Teta? They were good people who died in the hands of others.

Teta's eyes watered. "I'm afraid that I am the only one in the family up here. Don't fret, my dear."

"B-but, how can that be?" I croak wanting relief from all the pain seizing my body.

"Slushat'! The sins that our family had done are...." She stopped midway, swallowing. "They had thrown even the purest hearts into the pits of fire with them. Let go and return, habibti." (Listen!- (Russian). My love- (Arabic).)

The image fades as the heat rushes within me. I silently cried. "Dear God, help me from this pain. I cannot handle no more."

I would die in the basement...how pathetic. Screw Damien Giovanni, I hope he'd rot in hell!

I assume that it is night time right now. Awaken from my drowsy state, I cry out in pain when my leg moves trying to get rid of the numbness that rounded my legs and bum.

My head lay on the wall, fiddling with my chains through the dark. I was greeted with utter silence as usual.

Hours passed and I inferred that it would be sunrise by now. The pain had kept me awake through the night. It was better that way. I didn't have to see my mother's fading face and my father's distant voice. Or rather be haunted with my family's sins.

Suddenly I heard it. The sound of a door opening... I was waiting for this day and rather feared it. I had thought that until that day would come, I would never be alive to see it. A shadow paced down the staircase as I made myself go limp. They were probably here to see if I was dead. If I wasn't, a bullet would probably guarantee the impossible. They would ponder about how lucky I survived, but not wonder once of all the pain I had endured. No, people just tended to give credit for the outcome.