Life..?

  The almost empty bottle of alcohol slipped from her fingers and crashed below her, on top of the massive rocks that formed the beach in that part of the port. It wasn’t an area to go an have fun of anything, rather a place for people who loved seafood to go and have a delicious dish of crab, lobster, fish or any other creature from the sea. The small pier on which Cynthia was seating, her legs dangling like she used to do when she was younger, was located in a part closed to the public, far from the restaurants and the bustling ambiance of the now exclusive and upscale area of commerce that was located a few steps away.

 Where she was, she could hear the ocean crashing softly against the rocks and then pull back and then crash the rocks again. She found that beautiful sound to be very soothing, especially at that precise moment of her life when she was feeling cornered by thoughts and things that were happening all around her. She knew the place from one time she had been invited to a party there and now she looked at the pieces of glasses on the rocks, as if they had the answer to all of her problems. And apparently, the answer was to open up the other bottle she kept on her coat and start drinking again, no regrets at all.

 Cynthia had never really been a lover of alcohol but it felt soothing for that moment to do something like that. She wasn’t into drugs or anything like that, having a crippling fear of dying from an overdose, so she would more often than not go to her nearest store and buy a couple of middle-sized bottles of alcohol, which she could feet nicely into her large winter coat. And it was that, the weather during that time of year, that made it all the more perfect. She knew it was the perfect way for her to handle what was going on and she wouldn’t let anyone else decide for her what to do or how to do it.

 As she took a good sip of the clear liquid in the bottle, she paid special attention to a fishing vessel entering the port. She was certain no one could see her there, on the spot she had chosen to be in, but realized it would be very annoying to have someone come and stop her from going on and on with that part of her life. Because that’s what it had become: alcohol had become the perfect gateway “drug” to make her feel a little less, something she really needed each time she was reminded of her past but also her present and the prospects her future held. Everything in life triggered her and made her unable to respond normally to anything.

 The fishing boat passed and Cynthia waved at it, already a bit drunk from the alcohol but also because of the cold. She closed her coat a little bit more, realizing she had chosen an especially cold evening to go out and sit over the ocean. But the truth was that she had never “chosen” such a place or such an activity. It was only the thing she could do without feeling she was doing the wrong thing or acting in an undesirable manner. She wasn’t a mess there, by herself.

  It was also easy to hear the screams and laughter coming from the people in the restaurants, but Cynthia tried hard not to pay attention. One reason was that she didn’t really liked any of the people that visited such places. They were mostly snobbish, the type of folk that don’t even realize people don’t normally have the kind of money to dine in such places every single night. That was exactly what she realized the day she was invited to a party there and soon realized how much of a mistake it had been to attend that event, at that time and in that place. It was all wrong and there was no real way to mend it.

She made everyone feel uncomfortable and the only thing she won out of that experience was the fact that she was very clear on how other people perceived her and what she didn’t really like about all of them. She was one of those people that don’t really mind what you say about them or how you say it, or at least they seem to not care at all. That’s way her appearance in that party was such a disaster, even if other things were feeling as if they had been improving in her life for quite some time. But those awful moments of social awkwardness made everything feel worse and seem worse, and she didn’t really need that.

 When she finished the bottle, she dropped it intentionally over the rocks, applauding loudly when the glass shattered and pieces flew all over the place, to the ocean, over the algae and on the rock. No one appeared after she had clapped. Maybe no one cared or maybe she had a way with the city and its strange places, but her next move was to go back to the mainland and try to exit the area without anyone looking at her. She was successful, after avoiding to look back on her way to the exit. Once there, she walked, cold and shaking but feeling a bit better. The cold wind on her cheeks was apparently doing wonders too.

 She sat at the bus stop and realized she was a bit tipsy. She looked around, and realized her only other companion was a very elderly woman who didn’t even have a reason to be walking around so late in such a remote place. Cynthia looked at her and tried to guess if she was actually younger than she seemed or if she seemed to be into the kind of things that hip people liked doing over there. She didn’t have much choice anyway, as the bus appeared soon and they both entered. Cynthia sat behind the driver and the old lady walked very slowly to a seat by the middle of the bus. Maybe she was buying something she wasn’t supposed to.

When Cynthia got home, she felt really dizzy and also very tired. She dropped on her bed in two seconds after she had arrived and realized, in a moment, that she was drunk and that she hated most of the people with whom she interacted ever. Everyone including doctors, shrinks, supposed friends and family and all other people that always try for you to have the life that they want for you, instead of the want for yourself. She really hated them, with feeling.  

 She then decided to strip for bed and stood in front of the mirror, looking at her almost naked body. Cynthia was not a supermodel but she wasn’t the ugliest woman in the world, she was fine. But she didn’t have much else aside a degree she never used and a lot of debt towards her parents. She was one of those so-called “leeches” that live in their parents’ home for years and never really go. Her fortieth birthday seemed close, even if it wasn’t going to happen for some more years. It was pressing on her, her mind and the body she was looking at.

 It was obvious that she didn’t really feel great about all of that but even so she got herself into a pajama and then into bed. She heard her parents entering the house right when she was about to fall asleep. It was nice she had chosen that precise night to be able to come back without her parents being there and asking something about her life or, much worse, not saying anything but giving her looks and glances, certain attitudes too, that made her realize what she already knew. But how the overcome the fact that she was a non- achiever?

 How was she supposed to overcome the fact that she was just one person, unable to change the world around her? That’s why she needed to drink, why she really needed to have a proper reaction to everything happening around her. She could just be there and take it or end it all in two seconds. Neither of those two options was an actual option, she didn’t have access to any of them. So, she had to endure and keep at it until something happened. But it had a toll on her and maybe that one would be the last straw for her and her consciousness. She knew very well she was not the kind of person to hold for years and years.

 Cynthia often found herself looking up at her ceiling, wondering about all of those people she had met at least once. She wondered about their lives, their success and their stories of greatness and achievements. And she felt so tremendously alone after that. She remembered the times she had borrowed money from her father to pay for a quality education and it had all amounted to nothing. They didn’t really say it but she knew, deep that, that it was the case.

 So every night was a struggle and every new day felt as one more iron ball had been put in a jar representing her life. It got heavier and heavier, never easy to properly carry around.

Hospital

  I wanted to get out. I wanted to scream too. But I couldn’t. My mouth couldn’t open so, of course, no voice or sound could come out. I cried though, that was one of the things I was able to do. My tears tasted funny, salty but weird. I got tired of crying after a while and then I just feel asleep. When I woke up, some doctor was poking at the machine that was connected to my body. He didn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t there. He just wrote some things on a note pad and then left, leaving me trying to ask what had happened.

Because, no matter how much I tried, there was no way I could remember what had happened. I was certain I had been sick for a couple of days at home, some kind of flu or maybe a virus inside the stomach. It was awful but not strange, nothing out of the ordinary. And suddenly, one day, I woke up in that hospital feeling as if I had been beating up by someone. From the first moment, I wasn’t able to speak and whatever the put in my veins was making me doubt every single thing that I thought when I was awake.

 My body always felt awful. I was hurting too much every day and it felt there was something strange. One would think I would feel better as the days went by but I didn’t. I was feeling just as bad on day one as on the other ones. I don’t even know how long I was there. One night though, I heard something odd. Someone was crying very loudly and then she began to scream. She screamed for a long while until the voice stopped. Somehow, hearing her had made me feel a bit better, as if I could finally step out of that bed.

 But I didn’t do that. I glanced at the machine that was connected to me and realized it was probably telling the people in that place how I was feeling and maybe even what I was doing. If I disconnected it, maybe they would notice it in a few minutes and I would be caught before I could imagine a plan to get out of that place. I had to be smarter than them; I had to really think of a good plan to run away, to escape what was most likely some kind of prison or mental hospital. An awful place in any case.

 They kept injecting me with the same drugs but, luckily, I realized they really didn’t work anymore. My sore legs and arms where fighting the poison they were pumping in my veins. I felt better by the hour and they had no idea. I was tempted to smile but I still couldn’t do that. For some strange reason, I wasn’t able to speak yet. I couldn’t make any sounds but I had grown accustomed to that. In my head, there was only the idea of escaping that place and talking had nothing to do with that. I had already come up with a plan and didn’t even care if it could be successful.

  That very night, I stood up for the first time in a long time and I grabbed the machine to avoid getting disconnected from it. I then peaked through the nearest window, which was almost impossible as it was a bit higher than me. I had to stand on the tip of my toes in order to look down at a large yard made of stone. It had been raining. There was no one outside and the place looked as if it wasn’t precisely populated by many people. By the look of the place, it seemed to be far away from any city or town.

I then walked to the down and realized it wasn’t locked. They didn’t have a reason to lock the doors as they kept me, and probably all other patients, too drugged up to even walk around the room. I have to confess that I wasn’t feeling perfect right then, but I had to do something soon because I didn’t know why they were keeping us there. Maybe the final step in their “care” for us was to kill us. So waiting forever was not really the best choice. I just had to do something, no matter the result.

 I opened the door a bit, enough to look outside. It was very dark and even colder than inside the room. I couldn’t hear any sound, not a voice or anything else. I closed the door and faced the biggest problem I had: the chord in the machine was not long enough for me to parade around the hallway outside without the nurses and doctors noticing I wasn’t in my bed anymore. So I had to make a choice. It didn’t took me very long to decide to rip off the thing that was loading drugs into my system.

 The moment I did it, my body felt a little bit weaker but I had to go out soon and run down the hallway, hoping the nurses and doctors were kept away from the rooms outside of their working hours. It seemed I was right, because I didn’t see any of them as I descended to the ground floor. It was only when I got to the yard I had seen from above, that I actually saw a group of them running up the stairs, probably going to my room. I hid in the shadows for a bit and then stepped outside, in order to find an exit.

 It seemed nature wanted me to be successful because a storm begin brewing in a few moments and then rain came down hard. The water and the mist caused by the cold was enough to hide my body from my captors. I stepped out into the garden and tried finding a way out. But there was a tall brick wall all around the compound. So I had to make an effort, I had to make myself feel like shit once again, swallow all the pain in order to finally escape. I jumped many times until I finally got a grip and then my muscles ached as I hoisted my body to the other side of the wall.

 Everything hurt, but I knew I couldn’t just stay there complaining. I ran through some fields of wild flowers and then deeper into a forest. I had no idea where I was; I wasn’t able to recognize anything about my surroundings. But I was certain that no hospital of that kind could be too far away from some town or city. They probably needed a supermarket for groceries and pharmacies to get some of the drugs. At least I hoped that’s the way it all worked, because I had no other thing to do.

 The forest was rough and I had to stay there overnight. It was too dense and there was nothing I could grab to eat, but somehow I felt much better there than in the hospital. I felt all the drugs coming out of my body as I peed and sweated, feeling much better by the next morning. I walked even more that day and was lucky enough to find a small village. I got there walking by the road. I hoped not to look too scary, but there wasn’t a lot I could do related to that. I just needed to do something, to take the final risk.

 The first person that saw me was a little boy and that wasn’t probably the best thing ever. He got scared and called her mother, who came by very fast. I tried to talk again, but I couldn’t. She screamed and said things and I felt very dumb for not realizing that it would be very hard to communicate with others without being able to talk. So I just knelt in front of them and tried to show them how defenseless I was and how much in need of their help I was. I stayed like that for a while, until they left.

 I thought they had been scared and had just run away, but they did come back in a few minutes with a policeman. I was glad to see someone that could actually help me. I knelt again and put my hands together, trying to make him understand that I couldn’t talk. He apparently understood. He asked me to come with him and I nodded. He put me inside his car and we then rode for a while, until we got to the police station. There, some doctor checked on me, which made me feel awful but I knew it was necessary.

 Luckily, I still remembered how to write. My hands were not very ready to do it, but it was clear enough for the cops to understand. They sent patrol cars to the hospital and freed many people that were being submitted to experimental drugs of many kinds. None of them could talk either.

 I eventually realized I wasn’t in my own country.  I couldn’t remember everything from my past but it was clear I was completely out of my element. I had to learn to be unable to speak and it took me a while to get to the memories that would help me getting back home.

Stupidity

   The moment I came out of the water, I felt I was being allowed to live for some more time. It had been torture to swim to such depths in order to enter that cave, which acted as a secret hideout for those people. They appeared to have mastered the art of diving but I had no idea what was going to happen, so my reaction when we finally got there was entirely comprehensible. I think that even they thought so, because they let me cough and curse for a while, until everyone was inside the cave.

 Then, as before, they drew out their guns and pointed at me. They had kept them in tightly sealed bags and now they could use them again to threaten my life. The crazed man that had pushed into the water was the closest ones and water pressure had done nothing to eliminate the crazy face he was looking at me with. I knew he was just working for his boss, making sure everything happened according to plan. But I hated him nevertheless, for his weakness and his lack of interest for anything else than his boss.

 We started walking through the rock, the path illuminated with small lamps pierced into the cave itself. Someone had spent their time doing that, making the place seem like some sort of secret lair, which reminded me of movie villains, the kind that twist their moustaches and laugh in the most horrible and hilarious way. But this man was not one of those villains, he was much worse and he was capable of things no one would even imagine, things that no comic book villain would ever do.

 He had used the natural caves of that region of the Mexican coastline, to hide whenever someone came too close to his dealing and business. The amount of drugs he sent to every corner of the world was simply baffling. I had the chance of seeing some of the packages they were preparing and it was simply too much to send without the authorities noticing something strange. And yet, they managed to do it and sell millions and millions of dollars a year with such a rentable business. It was scary.

 And there I was, in the middle of all of it, just because of a mistake. Just because I had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but also because I had allowed someone to take advantage of my stupidity. I promised never to fall for that again, but those kinds of promises are always empty and stupid, because most times people do not learn from their mistakes and I have no reason to be the exception to the rule. This wasn’t the first time I did something wrong, but it was the first time it had such serious consequences. It was obvious I could be killed at any moment and why I hadn’t was making me uncomfortable.

 We finally got to a nice open gallery, where it was very cold and humid. The crazed man ordered me to stand still while some of the other men went ahead and checked if everything was fine. I just stood there, dripping wet still, trying to understand it all. Because it was obvious I should’ve been killed hours earlier but I hadn’t. Someone had prevented that from happening and I needed to know why. It was obvious their boss was the one who knew most, if not all, the answers and I had to speak to him.

 We were given clearance and moved ahead in moments. The next room was surprisingly lit by natural sunlight and had a pool of blue water in the middle. It was an outstanding view. So surprising in fact, that the crazy guy hit me with his gun because I had stopped to appreciate the space without his permission. He made my ribs feel broken, but I had to resist the pain and just walk on. We finally got to another illuminated room but this one was much larger and had no water in the middle. And he was there.

 Their boss was not the kind of man who I thought would be running an operation like that one. Maybe because the boss was not a man, but a woman. She had olive skin and curves that would have made her into a model in the eyes of any expert. However, she was delegating tasks and had a big gun strapped to her side. I also noticed a knife on her right sheen and a couple of scars all over her body. The woman had seen her fair share of battle and one would think that’s why she was fighting back.

 When she noticed me, she walked straight to the crazy eyed man and demanded her to tell him why they had taken so long. They started arguing about thing I did not understand, and I remembered I was in a place I didn’t fully comprehend.  I knew that they were dealing with drugs and that the man that had taken me there, to the coast, had been working with them, but that was it. It was not like he told me everything that was going on in his life. He had used deceit to take me there and I had fallen for it.

 She finally looked at me but didn’t say a word, she just smiled. Then, she ordered her men to bring a present she had prepared for me. I was very scared when I heard the word “present”. From someone like her, it was probably something not very pleasant and far from what a normal person would call “a present”. I stood frozen on the same spot, looking at her looking at me. It made me nervous but, somehow, it also disgusted me. It was as if I could feel what kind of person she was only by looking at her. And if my feeling were correct, she was simply the worst.

 Finally, the present was brought it. And it was none other than him, the man that had taken me with him to a luxurious vacation to the Mexican Riviera. I had been easy and stupid enough to accept, not seeing his probable true intentions. He was beaten up, his face all covered in bruises and cuts. But he was breathing and was apparently able to use his eyes because he stared at me and just said my name. He must have thought I was there to save him or something, as if I could do that.

 The woman came closer and explained that she knew everything that had happened. The man, a drug dealer, was her link to many mafias and other criminal organizations around the world. That’s why he travelled far and wide, making connections to strengthen their sales in other countries. He would often get men to help him, by making them think he was in love with them or at least very sexually attracted to him. And according to the woman, that ploy had worked surprising well for years.

 Apparently, many men had come before me, thinking they were there to enjoy the beach and the beauty of the region, only to realize that they were going to be used as drug mules or would be forced to work as dealers, under threat against themselves and their families. Some of those men were even closeted and that was another way to pressure them into doing whatever the organization wanted them to do. And others were just junkies, that would do anything in order to have at least some of the merchandise.

 He didn’t say a word after she finished talking about him and his men and his boys. He didn’t say a word. And he could’ve, even if it was hard to understand him. But he didn’t say a word. I had no idea what to do. I was trapped and would have to do whatever they wanted me to do know. They owned me because I hadn’t been strong enough to refuse his advances. I had been distracted by his looks and his charm. Stupidity runs wild in humans and especially in jaded men.

 She looked at me and, without saying one more word; she pulled out her gun and blew his head off in front of me. I gasped, but did not scream. His body fell lifeless on the floor, staining the beautiful clear rock with the darkness of the blood. The crazy eyed man grabbed the body and soon disappeared.

 The woman walked towards me and grabbed my face. She wanted to take a good look. For a moment, I thought I was dead, but then she called two men and told them to escort me to the airport. I would leave and never talk of anything I had seen there. She didn’t threaten me, she just knew I wouldn’t talk.