12-04-2019, 04:19 PM
Kirrita, Lauchenoiria – near the Kerlian border
Last month
The bus pulled into the bus station slowly. The town of Kirrita was small, though the amount of buildings implied more people lived there than did. Many of the houses lay abandoned, unable to be sold because nobody wanted to live so near such a dangerous border. Especially since the town was where one could catch the single bus which crossed the Kerlian border three times a day, from the bus station adjacent to the train station, the terminus on a line most Lauchenoirians shuddered when they took.
Today, the bus was busier than usual. Every seat was full. A couple of passers-by started, confused. Usually, there were only a few people. Foolish tourists returning, ambitious businesswomen who had failed to convince the Matriarchy to give them a permit to expand their business, the occasional Kerlian diplomat who claimed she was trying to save on emissions by avoiding taking a car (nobody was quite sure if they told the truth about that or not). Yet today, the bus from Kerlile was packed.
It stopped, and the doors opened, the people inside filing out. First were three Shen, talking to each other in Chinese, one trying to fix her hair. They were followed by a handful of Lauchenoirians, gleefully shouting in Spanish and looking around like they never thought they’d see their homeland again. One even sat down on the ground, stroking it like it was a pet cat, and weeping tears of joy. They were followed by a handful of Kvaskm, talking in their own language and staring around, one fanning herself in the heat.
A group of government officials, who had been sitting in the small café at the bus station, waiting, approached the group, speaking to the Lauchenoirians in rapid Spanish. Some of the women nodded eagerly and began pulling out passports and Kerlian travel cash cards, and paperwork, offering them to the officials. Others shook their heads politely, smiled and made their own way to the train station, crowding the platform next to the Shen and Kvaskm, waiting for the train due in 20 minutes time.
Last off the bus were three women, in their late 20s or early 30s. They were clutching each other like they were afraid that if they let go they’d fall. Their eyes were haunted, like the life force had been drained out of them years ago. Yet there was an uncertain hint of hope in their eyes, like they didn’t quite believe they had a way out. They stepped gingerly off the bus, blinking in the sunlight. One of the government officials noticed them and walked over.
“Good afternoon. I realise this must all be a shock to you. Are you Lauchenoirian?” he asked.
“Y… yes, we are,” one of the women said.
“Okay, good. You are home now, you are safe. We are here to offer aid if you need it in returning to your homes and your families. You are under no obligation to accept, however. We want to make sure that your transition back to life after being released is as smooth as possible. Would you like assistance?”
The trio glanced at each other and whispered in each other’s ears, so quietly it was a miracle they could hear each other. Evidently, they had needed to practice speaking softly, a necessary survival technique in the high-surveillance atmosphere that was the Kerlian prison these women had, until recently, been detained in.
“Yes, we would,” the one who spoke earlier said.
“Of course. Now, if you don’t mind, can you let me know your names, and the year you were detained, please? And if I’m going too fast, or you find the questions too intrusive, please feel free to ask me to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” nodded the woman, then took three (outdated, invalid) passports from her pocket, handing them to the man. “My name is Cat Rosales, and these are my friends Phoebe Blakeslee and Luana Montaña. We… we were detained in 2010.”
*
Today
Cat Rosales sat on a rusty swing in her parents’ garden, that had been hers once when she was a child. She rocked back and forth, but was reluctant to take her legs off the ground, lest the aging contraption collapse and send her hurtling to the ground. The motion soothed her, it took her mind off the night terrors that plagued her every time she went to sleep. So, she had stopped sleeping.
She watched the sun rising as she rocked. It was so, so beautiful. She had thought it would be another decade before she was able to see such beauty, up until recently. In fact, she hadn’t been entirely sure she would survive that long. The prison in Kerlile had been so incredibly horrible. The fact it was the least bad type of prison in the country was something that made her shudder in horror.
Her bruises had long since faded, she hadn’t been beaten for months by the time she had been released. Yet there were scars in her mind that would last forever. People kept calling. Media personalities wanting to do interviews. Old friends wondering how she was. People she had barely talked to who claimed to be her friend because they wanted the gory details. Publishing companies asking if she wanted to write a book. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, or think about it.
Phoebe Blakeslee had broken down upon returning home. She hadn’t got out of bed since her arrival back, and didn’t want to see the other two. The trio had been good friends at university, and had become even closer in prison when they had nobody else to turn to. But Cat didn’t blame Phoebe for wanting to cut them out of her life. They were, after all, reminders of the worst time they had all been through.
Luana Montaña had been the opposite. She had returned all those calls, all those requests from media personalities, old friends asking how she was, and offers to write a book. Cat didn’t blame her either. Luana had come home to find her house destroyed, shelled in the civil war they’d hoped was a rumour when they’d heard about it from other inmates in the prison. Yet, it wasn’t. Fortunately, Luana’s family were still alive, living in a small, newly-built house, part of a government programme. They had no money, though, and the offers from the media were very attractive, financially speaking.
“Are you okay, darling?” Cat’s mother said softly, padding out from the house in her slippers. “You’ve barely slept since you got home.”
“I don’t like sleeping.”
“Oh, honey…” her mother came over to her, and held out a mug of hot chocolate. Cat took it gratefully.
“I’ll… I don’t know. I hope I’ll survive.”
“You’re on the waiting list for the medication, I’m sure your spot will come up soon,” her mother replied.
“Nationwide PTSD medication shortage, what a lovely thing to return to,” she said sarcastically.
“The fact you can joke is a good sign,” her mother pointed out.
“Yeah, it is. I… I shouldn’t have gone. I’m so, so sorry.”
“No, no. It was not your fault, don’t blame yourself!”
“I love you, mum,” Cat said, sipping her hot chocolate and staring off into the sunrise, as her mother stood beside her and watched on.
Last month
The bus pulled into the bus station slowly. The town of Kirrita was small, though the amount of buildings implied more people lived there than did. Many of the houses lay abandoned, unable to be sold because nobody wanted to live so near such a dangerous border. Especially since the town was where one could catch the single bus which crossed the Kerlian border three times a day, from the bus station adjacent to the train station, the terminus on a line most Lauchenoirians shuddered when they took.
Today, the bus was busier than usual. Every seat was full. A couple of passers-by started, confused. Usually, there were only a few people. Foolish tourists returning, ambitious businesswomen who had failed to convince the Matriarchy to give them a permit to expand their business, the occasional Kerlian diplomat who claimed she was trying to save on emissions by avoiding taking a car (nobody was quite sure if they told the truth about that or not). Yet today, the bus from Kerlile was packed.
It stopped, and the doors opened, the people inside filing out. First were three Shen, talking to each other in Chinese, one trying to fix her hair. They were followed by a handful of Lauchenoirians, gleefully shouting in Spanish and looking around like they never thought they’d see their homeland again. One even sat down on the ground, stroking it like it was a pet cat, and weeping tears of joy. They were followed by a handful of Kvaskm, talking in their own language and staring around, one fanning herself in the heat.
A group of government officials, who had been sitting in the small café at the bus station, waiting, approached the group, speaking to the Lauchenoirians in rapid Spanish. Some of the women nodded eagerly and began pulling out passports and Kerlian travel cash cards, and paperwork, offering them to the officials. Others shook their heads politely, smiled and made their own way to the train station, crowding the platform next to the Shen and Kvaskm, waiting for the train due in 20 minutes time.
Last off the bus were three women, in their late 20s or early 30s. They were clutching each other like they were afraid that if they let go they’d fall. Their eyes were haunted, like the life force had been drained out of them years ago. Yet there was an uncertain hint of hope in their eyes, like they didn’t quite believe they had a way out. They stepped gingerly off the bus, blinking in the sunlight. One of the government officials noticed them and walked over.
“Good afternoon. I realise this must all be a shock to you. Are you Lauchenoirian?” he asked.
“Y… yes, we are,” one of the women said.
“Okay, good. You are home now, you are safe. We are here to offer aid if you need it in returning to your homes and your families. You are under no obligation to accept, however. We want to make sure that your transition back to life after being released is as smooth as possible. Would you like assistance?”
The trio glanced at each other and whispered in each other’s ears, so quietly it was a miracle they could hear each other. Evidently, they had needed to practice speaking softly, a necessary survival technique in the high-surveillance atmosphere that was the Kerlian prison these women had, until recently, been detained in.
“Yes, we would,” the one who spoke earlier said.
“Of course. Now, if you don’t mind, can you let me know your names, and the year you were detained, please? And if I’m going too fast, or you find the questions too intrusive, please feel free to ask me to stop, okay?”
“Okay,” nodded the woman, then took three (outdated, invalid) passports from her pocket, handing them to the man. “My name is Cat Rosales, and these are my friends Phoebe Blakeslee and Luana Montaña. We… we were detained in 2010.”
*
Today
Cat Rosales sat on a rusty swing in her parents’ garden, that had been hers once when she was a child. She rocked back and forth, but was reluctant to take her legs off the ground, lest the aging contraption collapse and send her hurtling to the ground. The motion soothed her, it took her mind off the night terrors that plagued her every time she went to sleep. So, she had stopped sleeping.
She watched the sun rising as she rocked. It was so, so beautiful. She had thought it would be another decade before she was able to see such beauty, up until recently. In fact, she hadn’t been entirely sure she would survive that long. The prison in Kerlile had been so incredibly horrible. The fact it was the least bad type of prison in the country was something that made her shudder in horror.
Her bruises had long since faded, she hadn’t been beaten for months by the time she had been released. Yet there were scars in her mind that would last forever. People kept calling. Media personalities wanting to do interviews. Old friends wondering how she was. People she had barely talked to who claimed to be her friend because they wanted the gory details. Publishing companies asking if she wanted to write a book. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, or think about it.
Phoebe Blakeslee had broken down upon returning home. She hadn’t got out of bed since her arrival back, and didn’t want to see the other two. The trio had been good friends at university, and had become even closer in prison when they had nobody else to turn to. But Cat didn’t blame Phoebe for wanting to cut them out of her life. They were, after all, reminders of the worst time they had all been through.
Luana Montaña had been the opposite. She had returned all those calls, all those requests from media personalities, old friends asking how she was, and offers to write a book. Cat didn’t blame her either. Luana had come home to find her house destroyed, shelled in the civil war they’d hoped was a rumour when they’d heard about it from other inmates in the prison. Yet, it wasn’t. Fortunately, Luana’s family were still alive, living in a small, newly-built house, part of a government programme. They had no money, though, and the offers from the media were very attractive, financially speaking.
“Are you okay, darling?” Cat’s mother said softly, padding out from the house in her slippers. “You’ve barely slept since you got home.”
“I don’t like sleeping.”
“Oh, honey…” her mother came over to her, and held out a mug of hot chocolate. Cat took it gratefully.
“I’ll… I don’t know. I hope I’ll survive.”
“You’re on the waiting list for the medication, I’m sure your spot will come up soon,” her mother replied.
“Nationwide PTSD medication shortage, what a lovely thing to return to,” she said sarcastically.
“The fact you can joke is a good sign,” her mother pointed out.
“Yeah, it is. I… I shouldn’t have gone. I’m so, so sorry.”
“No, no. It was not your fault, don’t blame yourself!”
“I love you, mum,” Cat said, sipping her hot chocolate and staring off into the sunrise, as her mother stood beside her and watched on.
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax