The Girl in The Green Scarf

S e v e n

CHAPTER SEVEN
SEBASTIAN

"There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies."
―Martin Luther King, Jr.

"There's water and bread, if you want some," The girl in the green scarf says.

It takes me a second to realize she is talking to me. I lift my eyebrows at her, but she can't see them as she stands up with her back to me.

Hours have passed since I was thrown back into this room and I was out of it for a couple of those. During those, whenever I lift my head to look at her, she was on the floor, doing some kind of voodoo magic thing which involved getting covered up with sand and mumbling gibberish, along with standing and prostrating a lot.

I don't ask her what she's doing; she said to stay out of each other's hair - or hair and scarf- and it's not like I care anyways. All I care about at the moment is how to get out of this wretched place and make those bastards pay for what they have done to me.

"I'm not hungry," I say.

This is a lie but I'm not about to accept anything from her. I turn over to my other side; this makes the wound on my arm sting.

She walks to her cot, which is on the opposite wall from mine, and sits, hugging her legs to her chest. Her eyes remain focused on the mattress in front of her.

"Suit yourself."

She rests her head on the wall behind her and closes her eyes. I notice she has a bandage on her forehead that wasn't there when I saw her by the river. This gets me wondering, how was she caught anyway? She wasn't even close to the woods when I was knocked out.

I remember turning around when I heard the rustles to see a man holding a leather belt in his hand. He strangled me until I sank into nothingness, choking for air. I push away the memory as my hand flies to my neck, feeling the bruise there under my fingers.

When they took me away earlier, they didn't ask for a way to reach my father or how to negotiate a ransom. I could tell they weren't after money.

They wanted information, asking about the work stations and posts of the soldiers; where the weapons were kept, when my father left for his meetings. But no matter how much they beat me, or threatened me, I just wouldn't tell them a thing.

Not because of my undying love for my father or this land, but because I enjoyed the frustration on their faces. It would have to be a cold day in hell before I give them the satisfaction of victory.

They want information? They'll have to work harder for that, and maybe get it somewhere else.

I sit up and look across the room. The girl has fallen asleep in her sitting position, and I am tempted to go get some of that bread she mentioned, my stomach is growling with hunger. I throw my legs over the side of the cot and stand up. She mumbles something incoherent and her breath hitches but I can see she is still asleep. I make my way to her bedside; there's a tray with a bread loaf and the shells of a boiled egg; she obviously ate that which is okay, since I don't like eggs anyway.

I kneel to pick up the tray and notice a half full tin cup and my throat collapses with thirst. I take the cup in my other hand inspecting it; she drank from this, but left a part for me. That is actually considerate.

"Don't worry; being a Muslim is not contagious." Her voice startles me and I drop the cup, the water spilling all over the dirt. I groan and shoot her a dirty look, now there goes my chance to please my throat.