the unknown

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The day had been clear, but it no longer brought her any sense of joy, for there was no pleasure in this work. She heard his heavy boots make their way up an old squeaky staircase and trudge down the hallway she’d been dragged through minutes before. Like clockwork, the patter of rain on a metal roof grew like white noise, though it brought her more apprehension than peace.

“They said your name’s Amber?”, a man huffed from the other side of the door, letting out a little laugh as he barged in. Brushing the unkept hair from her eyes, she got into position, letting a singular tear escape that would never be acknowledged, at least not here. Everyone who cared about her knew the severity of what had happened, but not where she was, or if she would ever return. This was the sad reality of the government’s new extremist political policies, and no woman was safe. Amber was a government-given name, and as each day went by more miserable than the last, her old name became less and less recognizable on her tongue. She’d whisper it in moments alone, trying to remember the woman she used to be versus the pleasuring machine she’d been forced into becoming. ‘Belle’ was no longer, she was too innocent for this road. It was achingly depressing, and Amber was beginning to believe she deserved this pain, that these moments of peace between the breaths and grunts of dirty men were the best life would give for not making something of herself sooner. She had big plans, but they would never be enough for the greed of modern society, or enough to save her from the rough hands of the men in charge.

It wasn’t unusual for women to disappear throughout early April, as taxes were due and the government preyed on every female-presenting individual that failed to meet their economic standards. Amber had seen it happen to her best friend’s older sister, a year after graduating college with little direction. Her neighbor across the street was the next to go, having worked as her own boss for years as a contracted nanny and tutor. Miss Ann was always an earnest woman, with flawless skin and a bad taste in men, who tried to live under the radar. She would make these cookies, always fluffy and stuffed with pieces of candy bar and sugary-cereal. She never did forget to wrap some for every kid in the neighborhood, making her rounds and leaving anyone she interacted with in a cheery mood. Amber remembered being nine or ten, peering out the large-paned windows of her parent’s home, pondering Miss Ann’s arrival, as she would promptly exit her pastel pink home with basket in hand every Thursday around three in the afternoon. On one particular day, Amber had fixated on the white door across the street as thirty minutes, an hour, two hours went by. She slowly came to terms with the darkness of night and equally shadowy house before her. Every light seemed to be turned off, but Miss Ann’s red Volkswagen bug still sat in the driveway. It didn’t move for two weeks, until one Monday when a tow truck came to take it away, and the unshaven man tipped his hat towards Amber as she anxiously gazed off her porch at the other side of the street, hands in pockets and anxiety heightening. Moments before haphazardly pulling out of the neighborhood, the man in the truck reached above his left shoulder and pulled a rusted, dangling chain. The big-wheeler let out a bellowing horn, which harmonized with the man’s sick chuckles as he drove off. Miss Ann’s car practically waved goodbye, as though foreshadowing Amber’s future, which was unclear at the moment. These occurrences only became more frequent and less expected, with young girls and bigger celebrities going unexpectedly missing, as though they’d suddenly left their current life behind. Amber began to realize that unless she stumbled across a large sum of money, her time would come as well. She didn’t know what it would feel like, but she knew that the if the government was behind the sexist initiative to punish the female working-class, they’d go to great lengths in order to establish their dominance and power.

Now she knelt in this dark room, mentally preparing to do unspeakable things that only left her feeling emptier. None of it made sense, and the dystopia would only continue to steal the futures of many young women who knowingly or unknowingly threatened the patriarchy. Amber had been raised so aware and yet, she had no control over the matter. The least she could do was suck up to everyone until a vulnerable moment left her unattended, and she could make a run for it. She’d done research on potential safe houses, but her current location remained unknown. She hadn’t been trafficked onto a plane or bus but she knew she was hours from her hometown. In what direction, Amber was at a loss.

Wiping sweat from her new forehead lines and slipping back into grey, government-issued leggings, Amber let out a yawn, working to stretch this tired bit in hopes of getting a moment alone. Since being forced into the never-ending cycle of human-trafficking, Amber felt like she was suffocating. It was only through tiny windows and holes in the various blindfolds that she could really grasp where she was at any given moment, and it was never pretty. It was as if all the colors of the universe had disappeared along with her dignity as they stripped her of her life and clothes, in exchange for abuse and a dingy supply of grey workout sets, which would help her to blend in while also showing off her figure for potential prospects. She had nightmares growing up about being kidnapped and heard countless stories from family and friends regarding this factory-line, abusive mentality when it came to the workforce. No one seemed to escape unscathed when it came to experiences of unfairness in their community or career-field, and it led to a consensus of fear in women and minorities alike.

Amber had always loved to write, and the past few weeks held enough trauma for a series of novels. She’d asked the men in charge for pens and paper numerous times and was immediately shut down, returned with equally demeaning and derogatory responses relating to her womanhood, lack of intelligence, and worthiness to society. She let out a laugh after the third one, as she came to terms with the fact that society was no longer based around any kind of moral compass, but rather, a direct result of the control that the government had— more specifically, the grasp that power-hungry people had on anyone who chose to challenge them. She traced words into the hardwood floor, scraping with jagged fingernails, but even after hours of effort, there was little to no damage done. Sometimes she wished she could become the floorboards; trudged upon but steady. She was tired, and though she was use to the unknown, nothing could have prepared her for this. She had to escape, but the question was, how? Even if she managed to slip out and survive, she didn’t know if they would track her, or if she’d make it to a any kind of safe house before the bad men caught on.

Amber had grown up around her mother’s various boyfriends, all of which smelled of cheap whiskey and spoke in varying levels of disrespectful. She had learned from an early age that compliance was a necessary skill in order to butter someone up into believing you could do no wrong. In doing so, she’d wait til’ the men fell asleep or went upstairs with her mother. When she’d heard a door slam, she knew there was just enough time to book it to the park, where the swings awaited her and she could close her eyes for a few minutes without fear. Even though the playground was empty, she felt safer there than in her own living room, where she’d have to refuse questions and glances that made her squirm. As she reached her teenage years, her unstable mother would pour a drink and question her sexuality, nagging her to ‘be honest’ and ‘tell her she liked girls’. Her mother never asked if maybe, just maybe, there was a reason that Amber didn’t find boys appealing. They made her skin crawl, and it was never butterflies, but bats, threatening to rip through her abdomen and swallow her whole. Her mother only love men who treated her like garbage and in return Amber associated most men with this pain, of watching her mother end up alone after once again believing that some stranger could be her saving grace. Amber laid back on the hardwood of the corner unit she’d just been felt up in. She was cold, and could barely make out the distance between her feet and the parallel wall. It was time to act, as dusk meant dinner for whomever guarded her, and she only received one meal a day. There was the small window and the door she’d entered in, blindfold on. She couldn’t recall how many stairs she’d conquered but it seemed a few stories high, which meant the window would be a challenge, unless the ledge was big enough for her to grip onto for an escape. The men who seemed so entitled to her were also entitled to a big dinner which would daily end after five too many beers and enough sexist jokes to drive a feminist off a cliff. Amber held her breath, listening for any oncoming foot traffic, deeming the coast clear. Slowly, she placed both hands and feet on the ground and lifted into a human-crab position, making sure to lift ever so-slightly to resist the creaking of the wood beneath her sore back. She heard commotion downstairs and stopped in her tracks, but only for a moment, as she was determined to try. Most nights since her kidnapping, Amber had fallen asleep while devising an escape route, but she’d typically be bagged and moved before she could really grasp any sense of location. She had even tried to escape from their grasps; the masked men with foul breaths. They’d told her she could jump, and then yanked her by her hair over the edge of various balconies, which would inevitably end her life. Now she wandered if it was worth the risk, but she was determined to walk out physically unscathed, before they brought in the reinforcements to torture her. Working for the government, they knew just what rubbed Amber the wrong way, and all her deepest fears, which lied right at their fingertips. Torture was endless, and Amber was determined to escape, if for nothing more than some fresh air. Her dignity was gone, and her body was tired. She began the crab walk towards the window, knowing the only escape was to move steadily, and to move now.

Amber felt the wall hit her elbow as she took one last moment to calculate the best approach. Ever so delicately, she pressed her full weight onto the palms of her feet and gripped the jagged brick that led up to the window. From there, she could see a road— dusty and windy and unknown. She rubbed the fog from her breath away and squinted hard through the glass, beyond what met the eye. Clouds were passing fast and behind a seemingly enormous cluster of trees and dense forest, she saw what looked to be a cities silouhette. No stars could be seen in this unwelcoming night but the city was lit up, miles away from this dungeonesque building of horror she could only assume was filled with rooms of other women, losing hope by the second, contemplating faith and whether it was worth it to continue. If a hierarchy set in place to protect becomes something that’s controlling you, life seems a lot less intriguing. Hopes and dreams suffocate, and the miniscule memories of breathing and reflecting become everything you’ve ever yearned for. Amber placed her right cheek on the cold, smudged glass and stood on her tiptoes to see what could possibly help her below. On the opposing building, a good nine-foot jump from her current one, a poorly-painted ladder clung to ancient metal-siding. It seemed like some sort of run-down factory, and it would be her only chance of escaping. If Amber didn’t make it out tonight, she questioned her ability to keep going, in this dreadful excuse for a routine. She balled her fist, putting it up the light of the square window, touching it to her forehead and heart. She was ready to run, fist first into the unknown. If she didn’t make it, she hoped she could stir up a conversation, and a desire to challenge the authority that seemed to have a real tight grasp on the current state of females everywhere. With one heavy sigh, she spoke into the night.

“Goodbye Amber, here’s to the Unknown”.

AFTER THE ESCAPE

Just moments later, the same men that had demeaned her for hours came barreling in the dark room, feeling for a switch that eerily flickered on. They peered at the shards of glass on the floor below the hole in the wall, and in big bright scratches in the wood boards it read

HERE’S TO BELLE.