Idea 3: Chosen; Stolen

I was taken away from home years ago by radicals who saw the underlying issues with our society much sooner than the rest did. The terrorists that hide within our community, undetectable, were their main concern. And yet they had discovered them while everyone else lived in ignorance. They took me when I was about 16 years old; they came in the night. They had been as invisible as the terrorists they hunted.

                I woke up in a strange room, some time after I felt a sharp pinch in my neck. I was extremely groggy, head spinning, eyes unable to focus. A shadowy figure sat across the room, seemingly waiting.

                Was he waiting for me?

                I tried to sit up but the moving room slammed my head back down towards the pillow.

                “Ughhhh,” I groaned.

                I heard footsteps coming towards me. I had no way to defend myself, I was disoriented, and if I did muster up the energy to fight free, where would I go? I opened my eyes and forced them to focus.

                “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” the man says as he strolls in my direction. “It had to be a quick, quiet, and highly secretive capture. Your family could not have seen it or heard any screams.”

                I blinked. What the hell was this man talking about? The room had slowed a great deal, so I pushed myself upright.

                “Where am I?” I was braver than I thought. I sounded braver than I thought I would.

                “I can’t tell you that.”

                I huffed. Wow, I didn’t know I had such confidence, such assertion.

                “Then who are you? What is your name?”

                He paused. Looked around the room.

                “I really shouldn’t tell you that either.”

                I stared at him. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, having been abducted and what not. I thought about my family. I wondered if they had noticed my absence yet; if they were asking questions.

                “You have to tell me something. You’ve kidnapped me, put my family in danger, and disrupted my life…What am I doing here?” I fought back the urge to sob and whimper. Don’t show weakness.

                Little did I know this would become an important phrase in my future.

                We held a staring contest, me sitting on the bed, him sitting on the chair he had brought over next to me. I took this time to notice how attractive this man was. He was young, yet he was definitely older than me, eighteen or nineteen years old. His tan skin, obviously further darkened by the strong sun and the lack of trees in the area. He had sharp features but they weren’t exactly chiseled. His nose was one that some may have considered big, but it seemed perfect for his face. Even against his brown skin, his eyes and hair were unexpectedly dark, black as midnight. His eyes were beautifully almond shaped and glossy, a starry night. And I couldn’t help but love his short, scruffy hair, textured carelessly. Creases lightly lined his face in various areas, such as outside his eyes and above and between his eye brows. He seemed worn down, worked.

                “Nasir. That’s my name…I shouldn’t have told you…but you deserve to know after they stole you!” He burst at the end.

                Nasir. Pretty common name. Even if I wanted, it’s not like I could give him to authorities. They would laugh if I went to them with nothing but one of the most common names in the country. Anyway, our protective forces weren’t exactly efficient…or functional…more like corrupt and incompetent.

                “Thank you.” I paused, took a breath. “Are they going to kill me? Or beat me for information I don’t have?” I could feel that my eyes had widened.

                “I…I’m not at the liberty to tell you any vital information. You aren’t to know anything…Yet at least.” His words sped up.

                Then he added, “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t fair.”

                “Why so secretive?” But I didn’t mean this question to be answered. I already knew all about my country. Nothing was straightforward. Nothing as it seemed.

                I could see sympathy in Nasir’s eyes. He must have felt terrible for my abduction, however, obviously not enough to do anything about it. Poor man. He had the guilt of an army squeezed into his lean, muscular body.

                Yes, I had noticed how very well Nasir took care of his body, even through the t-shirt and cargo pants. I hadn’t noticed until now that he wasn’t wearing the usual linen type pants most often worn in this hot climate.

                We talked a bit here and there, mostly small talk that was both awkward and restricted. We were both more comfortable sitting in silence. Nothing happened for hours. Occasionally Nasir would ask if I needed to use the bathroom and would escort me when I answered in the affirmative. Eventually food was brought to us by a tall, skinny man.

                For seven days this routine repeated itself. Periodically someone would come to talk with Nasir who went out into the hall, and I was left in the quiet of the room. Although it was just as quiet when Nasir was in the room as when he was in the hall, I still preferred him sitting guard than absent. Even if it was to make sure I didn’t make any hasty moves. He comforted me with his empathetic eyes. My boredom and longing for home and answers bothered him; I could see it. Most of all, he had become my protector, my guardian, granted I had not told him this, but I felt it. My little angel.

                On the eighth day, from what I could tell, which may not have been too accurate since there were no windows in this room, a man came to visit. This time, however, he was not here for Nasir. He was here to talk to me. While I had been waiting for days for answers, I had not been actually prepared for this visit. I felt my heart speed up.

                “Lana, what a beautiful name,” the older man said. His salt and pepper beard and hair was in wiry waves.

                “You don’t hear that kind of name here very often. Although, it fits your uniqueness.”

                Nodding slightly, out of awe, I mustered a, “Thank you,” and shut my mouth to listen to my answers. I would figure out how he knew my name later.

                “Since the oracle spoke of the birth of a special child who was to be trained in many aspects to help stop terror from debilitating our people, we have searched for this child. It has been years and years since the search began. We had much difficulty and few breakthroughs in the search. Having to be secretive only made it more difficult. We could not have our enemies know we were on their trail. Although they had been completely unknown to a single soul in our nation, we found them, figured out their plans.

                “And, yet, until we found this child we were screwed. Stupidly, we only looked for boy children. Sexist and discriminatory, I know. You, Lana, must understand why, though, growing up in this country. Women are given very little and punished more harshly. Well it wasn’t until we discovered Nasir, here, in our search and recruited him despite his not being the special child that we got the idea to search girl children as well. It was Nasir’s suggestion completely!”

                The man sounded proud of Nasir, proud that Nasir was a part of his group. Nasir looked pained, guilty still, even more so than before.

                And then, miss Lana, we found that special child that we had been scourging the land for years for. We watched her grow until we could not wait any longer, always in secret…Here we are, miss Lana, here staring at the special child.” He smiled, waiting for it all to sink in.

                But it wouldn’t. If he was implying for one second that I was this special girl, then he had lost his marbles during his long years looking and longing. I once heard that the hero can’t know that she or he is the hero at first r then it wouldn’t be a fairytale. But this was real life, and more often than not, it ended without a happy fairytale ending, and I would not let them plant false hope in my mind.

                With a small chuckle and a kind smile, I tried to explain to the man that he had the wrong “child.”

                “I’m afraid I’m not the one you seek, sir. I’m just a daughter, who like most girls, is not being put into school since apparently we are not worthy. I just want to return home and continue to teach myself to read and cook and clean, no matter how miserable house work may be.”

                I could feel Nasir’s mesmerizing eyes, unmoving, on my face. The man who had come to talk to me, whose name I still did not know, stood thoughtfully. He must have been in his late fifties, early sixties by the looks of him and was still very mobile. His face, too, was worn and had line sketches engraved across it; his were deeper and more numerous than Nasir’s. I could feel another staring contest beginning.

                But it never came. Instead, the man tempted me, convinced me.

                “The special child shall be taught to read and much more. There is knowledge that is both intellectual and physical to be taught. She or he shall be trained. For years.”

                He saw my face flicker with emotion. I had taken the bait. He knew it, that clever man.

                “And you are the one and only (he placed a significant amount of emphasis on “only”) special child, you must stay and take the knowledge we offer. Not only do we and our country need you, but so does the world.”

                I wanted this knowledge, this power, badly. I could stay here and become the most educated girl in my country and forget about the normal standards and requirements of respect for women, I could help the world. And I could shame my family, never see them for Allah knows how long, stay caged up, risk my life.

                “My parents, my brothers and sister. I can’t put them in danger, they’ll ask questions. They must be worried about me.”

                But my mind was already made up. I was staying because that was the only way to never have regrets and “what if’s” haunting me, it was what I really wanted.

                “They have been talked to. They have a basic understanding of the situation and are in a safe house, with surveillance,” the man spoke to soothe me, but it didn’t work. At the snap of his fingers, the door to the room opened and a T.V. was wheeled in. I could see my parents; they looked so tiny on the screen. The room they stood in was unfamiliar; they must actually be in a surveyed safe home. The man seemed more trustworthy already.

Let me know what you think! PurpleRain, SJAE!