I descended the spiral staircase, taking each step with the utmost care. Reaching halfway down, I caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the fair-skinned guys gathering the discarded phones. I ducked my head.
That’s when another gunshot was fired. I flinched and
cowered in place. What the hell? Another peal of laughter reached my ears not
long after. It sickened me to the core. I had never heard anything like it
before. It was a sickening mix of delirium and victory.
Taking a deep breath, I mustered up the courage to glimpse
at whatever had aroused such a bizarre reaction.
Blood. It dripped down from the driver’s seat. One of the
black-capped guys stood there. He was the one laughing his head off.
His face was covered in blood. The other guy, the one
collecting the phones, was telling him to shut up and focus.
But that was only the start of what soon unfolded. I jolted
as a severed head thudded against one of the windows. My hand instinctively
covered my mouth to suppress a scream.
I crouched as low as I could. But it was too late for
regrets. Right at that moment, the one who was collecting the devices, looked
up at the snaking staircase and briefly met my gaze.
I made my way up and slipped in between two rows of seats at
the end of the aisle. It didn’t take long before I heard the approaching
footsteps. With bated breath, I reached further under the seats, contorting my
body to occupy as little space as humanly possible.
I couldn’t see anything from this position. All I knew was
that it was game over the second they found me. The footsteps, however, grew
fainter and eventually ceased before they reached me.
Things remained like this for a few seconds, but the
lingering stillness gave the illusion that several hours had elapsed, and
whoever had come up here, went downstairs again.
A wave of relief washed over me. However, deep down, I knew
that this blissful moment was fleeting. Something really, really bad was
in the offing. But before I delve into the ensuing events, I must tell you how
I ended up here.
Fourteen years ago, I made a decision that went against all
reason. It was a deliberate decision. It happened because I desired it. I did
not regret what I did. It was survival of the fittest.
I either had to succumb to my monstrous instincts or bear
witness to my beloved’s excruciating suffering. I couldn’t bear the thought of
causing her such pain in her last moments, and then still go on with my own.
No, I did not regret what I did. I’ll never forget and I’ll
never forgive myself, but I refuse to regret what was bound to happen sooner or
later.
I was working as a janitor at a large hospital, doing the
same chores time and again. Physical to the core and mentally demanding, but I
had grown accustomed to it. I had to.
It wasn’t really my call to serve those I had once studied
alongside. That didn’t mean I did my job half-heartedly and spitefully. On the
contrary, I worked until I dropped dead in my childhood chamber every single
day.
I didn’t belong anywhere. The unwritten rules of the
neurotypical world wore me out. I decided to play mute and shut off my senses
to the world of the wicked and vicious.
Eventually, it was this folly game of pretence that
afflicted me and led to my downfall. It was my forte, it was my Achilles heel.
Moreover, I didn’t see it coming. I still wonder how things
would’ve turned out if I knew beforehand that all hell was about to break
loose.
However, all of this was now a distant memory, a mere echo
of the past. It was too late to turn back time.
Presenting myself as a pushover had both advantages and
considerable drawbacks. As long as I didn’t have to engage in meaningless
conversations, I was more than happy to be given orders and carry them out.
However, everything changed that fateful day.
I received an order to stay overnight and set up the rooms
for the influx of patients from the ER since the infection ward I worked at had
a limited number of rooms available.
I had just finished cleaning one of the single rooms, room
nine when I decided to take a breather in the canteen.
When I say cleaning, I mean that I changed the bedsheets and
took out the overflowing garbage bags. That was the routine in our ward and
anyone who did more than that was met with shrewd looks from the regular
janitors.
I, on the other hand, was an hourly worker and had to be
careful not to look desperate.
The patient in room nine was a nine-year-old kid, whose mum
had left the room when I arrived. Even as I finished my tasks and left, she
never showed up.
Shortly after I left the room, one of the nurses entered,
and I went to the canteen to grab some well-deserved coffee.
It was half-past two o’clock in the witching hour when one
of my co-workers found me sitting there sipping my black coffee.
It was a habit of mine to do that during the breaks solely
because I had nothing else to do. All my coworkers knew this.
This co-worker, however, wasn’t the type to strike up a
conversation with me. That day, or maybe I should say that night, he slammed
his fists onto the table and raised his voice at me.
His name was Jamal, and he was from Somalia. He was one of
the regular janitors in this ward, and I had worked with him enough times to
know that he was a decent guy.
He wasn’t the type of person who’d cause unnecessary
trouble. I knew immediately that something was off.
“You clean room nine?”
I remember not wanting to answer because I couldn’t grasp
why he was seeing red. It wasn’t like Jamal to raise his voice.
While I didn’t respond in the same distraught manner as he
did, I made sure to sound as firm as possible.
“I did, why? Did something happen?”
“The kid dead.”
He said that without skipping a beat. I couldn’t help but
frown. The kid was perfectly fine when I was there. He was watching a cartoon
and having a great time. There was no way he could’ve passed away this
suddenly.
“Someone cut oxygen, you know what means this.”
Though Jamal said nothing else, I could still hear the whiff
of accusation in his tired voice.
I could even hear the voice inside his anxious mind asking –
directly and with no filter - if I had killed that poor thing, either on
purpose or without meaning to, by cleaning too close to the oxygen supply.
He asked me, in his own way, if I had done something
irreversible and fatal - even if it wasn’t my intention.
Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t an entirely uncommon
occurrence. That was why our instructor warned us to avoid any contact with the
instruments, cylinders, or any other objects inside the patient rooms while
cleaning.
I wanted to defend myself, but the opportunity never
presented itself. Following his distraught entrance to the canteen, a group of
nurses entered.
My words, no matter how carefully chosen, held no weight or
meaning in this kind of situation.
In this uniform, it was evident that I belonged to a lower
social class. I was insignificant, a mere speck of dust, and the nurses were
prepared to do anything to put the blame on me to conceal their own mistakes.
This marked the beginning of the end for me. I just didn’t
know it yet. Looking back now, I realise I should’ve stood my ground. I had
legal rights just like everyone else.
But I guess I was exhausted, too drained and burned out,
from living without purpose. This incident provided the perfect justification
for me to bring an end to everything – a perfect opportunity.
From a young age, I displayed a solitary nature and was a
lone wolf. I immersed myself in the world of books, finding solace and comfort
in secluded locations, where I could read undisturbed while remaining invisible
to others.
I never desired or longed for anything. I was living yet I
was far from any living being. I never felt the need to engage in social
interactions, to connect with other people, or to cultivate meaningful
relationships.
Even as a young woman, at the height of my youth and beauty,
with suitors who hankered for my attention, I felt dead inside and nothing
else. My heart was sealed and so was my mind.
That I did not succumb to my dismal mind sooner was nothing
less of a miracle. I always knew that suicide would be the end of me. Still, I
clung to life for a reason all these years.
I lived for her. She was the one whose existence was so dear
to me that I couldn’t bring myself to leave this wicked world. But more of that
another time. Let’s return to the main topic.
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