Apparently, that struck a nerve. The officer grew impatient. She thrust the documents in front of me again and said, this time with much more fury, “I tried to be polite, but you’re really getting in my hair! Don’t play tricks on me, you smartass! If you want to die, just tell me. I don’t mind sending you to hell!”
With that said, she grabbed my hair and slammed me heavily against the wall.
I could not fight back in time because of the immense pain. I could only curl up into a ball and protect my head with my hands.
But she had clearly been trained to deal with prisoners like me. She managed to throw me onto the ground in a matter of seconds and proceeded to kick me directly in the ribs without sparing any mercy.
Her patience was probably running thin. Ignoring me, she wrestled my fingers apart, stuck a pen in between them, and forced me to sign my name on the document as she held my arm. When that was done, she grabbed my thumb and pressed it on the wound on my forehead.
A moment later, she lifted my blood-stained thumb and stamped it on the dotted line of the document where the signature was supposed to go. That woman completed this series of actions in one shot. It was clear that she did this all the time.
Bang! The door slammed shut on her way out.
I lay on the ground, still shaking. I only felt the pain after the ordeal, as it came gradually and spread to different parts of my body.
I could not imagine how miserable I must have looked.
I lay on the ground, having completely lost the ability to move.
Three days later, I was forcefully dragged into a car by two women. I was blindfolded throughout the journey and could only feel that I was in the car for a long time.
When the blindfold was finally removed, I found myself locked away in an unfamiliar and filthy environment.
Above me was the roof of what seemed to be a really old house, supported by empty wooden shelves. The roof was covered with triangular asbestos tiles, some of which had already darkened in color, probably a result of stagnant water over the years.
Sounds of women crying travelled to my ear. I withdrew my thoughts and saw my surrounding for what it was.
At that moment, I was lying on a messy pile of straw. My hands and feet had been tied up. The clothes on my back were the worse for wear. After everything that had happened these past few days, they no longer looked the same.
Next to me were several pitiful-looking women, most of whom were weeping and quivering in fright.
“Hey, stop crying. Let’s find a way out of here!” said someone. I looked towards the source. The voice belonged to a young woman, supposedly in her twenties. Even though her clothes were soiled, her facial features remained bright and cheerful. I could tell she came from a wealthy family.
The other women heard her too. They stopped crying and turned to face her.
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