Me From The Past

The stars filled the night sky, Gia lay on the floor at the back of her house. There large walls fenced the backyard separating her from whoever or whatever was behind it. Her long wavy red weave looked like rose petals were placed around her head. She looked at the sky and slowly closed her eyes batting long lashes slowly as she opened her eyes. Her brown feline eyes held her stories, one that she could not begin to tell and yet kept happening. Her head lay on her open palms, her sepia brown skin with her eyes gave her a sophisticated look. She rose to her feet, got into her kitchen and locked the back door, the kitchen was small; it had a tall black drum for water in case she ran out. The walls were covered in green tiles with a fruit basket design. The sink had no cabinet, it was cemented covered by the same green tiles on the wall; it just had two large spaces separated by a small wall. In one she put her pots and in the other provisions, on the drum sat a medium size carton were she put her remaining provisions. There was a plate rack that sat on one side of the sink on the other side was a small burner connected to the gas cylinder and at the end of the wall was a rack that held her veggies, fruits and eggs. She walked into the living room, the black two-seater sofas facing themselves, the three-seater against the window facing the television. She took a glass from the kitchen, walked to the living room and took out a wine bottle and poured a full glass. She turned on her television, placed the glass on the floor and lay in the longer sofa. As she watched the news, she slowly dosed off, jolting after about a minute or so but only to fall asleep yet again. Chains rattled, a couple of men speaking a foreign language came in to a dark musty bunker. The stench of the bunker was revolting; the men were dressed in army uniforms. Their uniforms were field grey wool tunic shirt with four front patch pockets with scalloped flaps and pleats. The front had six buttons and the collar and straps were of a dark bottle-green. Their tunic trousers were high-waist, straight legged, button-fly, stone grey with suspenders tucked in ankle boots. On their heads were olive green helmets. The bunker they walked into had a family lined up on their knees; a little girl clutched the raggedy doll in her hand. The younger boy tried to look brave as he saw his father and two older brothers but he trembled. His mother wept as she looked at her children. Her dress torn probably from when she was dragged out of wherever she was gotten from. Her brown hair was darkened by the dirt, they all looked dirty with the little ones missing their shoes. The father had a broken nose, he was the only one with his arms tied behind his back and cuts all over him for which he was bleeding. The children just looked unkempt, the soldiers approached the father and asked him a question in their language. He looked up at them proudly and remarked something with a smile. The first soldier gave a nod to the second, who pointed the gun at the first son and shot him. As the boy got shot his mother wailed, the father and other brother did not flinch while the little girl screamed and tears fell from the little boys eyes. The first soldier repeated his question and this time the mother spoke. Sounding defeated as if she had told them all she knew but they were not listening to her. The second soldier shot her instead, she was shot in the head; her lifeless body dropped and with open dead eyes looking straight at the little girl. The first repeated his question and then a quiet voice spoke from the darkness; the soldiers did not jump. They turned off the light for the single bulb and turned on the florescent light, against the wall was a woman held up by cuffs screwed to the wall. She repeated what she said, “they do not know,” she said with her head down then she raised her head and Gia was the woman. The difference was instead of the red weave, she had natural black curls that stopped inches passed her shoulder; her small red pouting lips had a bruise by the edge; her high cheeks were bruised and sore. Her fine nails had dirt in them, she had on more weight as one whose diet consisted of meat and beer. Bringing attention to her curves. Her full big breasts, round bouncy butt, curvy hips and slim waist but not tiny added with her flat tummy and bow legs that completed everything in a beautiful way. “You, what do you know?” the first man asked, his English was as bad as his hygiene; he pulled out his baton as he walked up to her. She smiled, aggravating him. So, he used his baton to hit her in the stomach, she groaned in pain and coughed out. “I know the woman you killed was your only link to Guzman,” her tone mocked their intelligence, and she raised her head to the side and looked him in the eyes. “You just failed your mission,” she added with a mocking laughter. He hit her in the face and she spat out blood. “You idiot,” she insulted with a cocky smile on her face; he raised his hand to hit her again when the sound of distant gun shots came from behind the wall she was pinned against. “Wait here,” he said, turning to the other soldier he shouted orders as the two of them rushed out of the room. She looked up at her restrains, her hand could fit through the cuff if she squeezed through which was what she did. Her hand bled as she squeezed it through, finally she got it out; she took out a small flat rod from the heel of her shoe. She used it to unlock the restrains of the other hand; the father looked up at her as she walked up to them. She looked at him, he looked at his sons then at her, “don’t get any ideas, you are still going to die,” and she walked up to the little girl. “Get up,” she ordered, the child rose to her feet then she turned to the man, ‘she is my mission,” she smiled maliciously. The little girl asked in her language, “what about papa and my brothers?” Gia looked down at them. She pulled the little girl to her, “they are not your father or brothers,” she replied in the girl’s language. She opened the door, ‘stay back,” she said to the little girl in the little girl’s language that was different from what the others were speaking. They spoke German, she spoke Hebrew, the halls were dark, brittle and covered in bullet holes while the floors were dark, dirty covered in dirt blood and shell casings as well as bullets. She closed her eyes and saw the map of the layer from memory. They had to go left, she took the little girl’s hand and they ran down the left hall; the smell of decaying bodies, burnt flesh, gun powder and cigarette smoke. The sound of soldiers screaming, explosions and gunshots were heard from a distance. They got to the end of the hall and before them stood and open drain leading through the pipe tunnels; she put the little girl inside first and then she came in second and waited for a while when no one came they continued. With each turn they took she could see the end of the tunnel and knew what lay ahead. Finally, they got out from a drainage, the drainage was a few miles from the battle field and the infirmary. She got out and helped the little girl up, she led the little girl past an old stomping ground that had more bodies than a graveyard. Some of the bodies were only bones left, they had only a few hours before the sun would rise yet the halved moon gave them enough light added with the fact that she could tell where they were going, they had an advantage. At the end of the old stomping ground, they stopped in front of a large hole that was dug for the mass burial for the fallen soldiers, but was never used. She looked down, the little girl looked up at her and asked in Hebrew, “where are we going?” she asked and Gia placed her hand over the little girl’s mouth. She heard muffles that sounded like crying, this meant their plan failed; she walked toward the direction of the sound. She had never failed a mission, at this point she was more annoyed than terrified. She could see lanterns, tents and could heard German soldiers laughing. She came closer, she saw people lined up, and from the distant it was too early to tell where they were from. ‘stay here,” she said to the little girl in Hebrew, she shoved her behind a tree and forced her to squat. She walked to the tent, she wore a navy-blue tan top, khaki shorts with grey military boots; she stomped in to draw their attention and it worked. “Here I thought I was having a bad day,” she said in German, all the soldiers turned to her; “who asked for pleasure?” she asked in a sultry tone. The soldiers laughed, “whore,” one said to the other and they laughed, she shrugged softly then she approached them walking in a seductive way. When she got into their mists, she looked at the one on her left then the one at her right, “which angle do you want me?” she asked softly. “Try your back,” one said and grabbed her hand, she got his hand by the wrist and broke it. He cried out, she pulled him and used him to hit the man in front of her. Her elbow, she used to hit the man on her right and her head she used to hit the man behind her. She kicked the man on her left in the gut pushing him back, the man on her right raised his gun and used the end to hit her in the face. She stepped back then he kicked her, she fell to the floor and he opened fire; she rolled away and the bullets hit the ground. She picked up a stone and threw it at him, he lost his gun and the man with the broken wrist hit her in the nose. Blood flowed, she simply put it back in place then rose to her feet; another threw his fist, she went under and hit him in the ribs in five strong effective but quick jabs causing his ribs to stab his lung. He fell to the ground, she kicked back to hit the one behind her but he caught her leg then another hit her in the face and she fell to the floor. They began to kick her repeatedly, then two lifted her up, and other picked up his gun, “don’t do this,” she said. Her face was covered in blood, the man smiled as he raised his gun to his eye level, “they never listen,” she said in Afrikaans. She used the two men as support, at the moment he opened fired she raised herself up in a horizontal perfect line and the bullet hit the tree behind her. The man shooting stopped, she stood again, the men let go of her and all pulled out their guns surrounding her on every side. “You should really tie me up,” she said again in Afrikaans but they did not understand; as they opened fire she ducked and they took themselves out. She rose to her feet, she pushed her hair back, and she looked at the people they had tied up. They were from all parts of the world, she took a knife from one of the dead soldiers and cut them loose. They all dashed for the east and she scoffed at how stupid they were, she whistled and they stopped, turning to her. She used her head to steer them in her direction, they looked at each other and ran toward her. She got the child and they ran north until they got to a German camp then she smiled and walked in. The people fearfully followed because they knew she could defend them, their eyes widened when they saw people like them hiding from the Germans. The Germans deserted the camp, when they lost the war front to the British army. It was a structured base previously used as a lab. “Baba,” the girl cried when she saw her real father, the man in the bunker changed his appearance to look like her father and it was with reasoning. She looked at Gia, “is this my real baba?” she asked in Hebrew and Gia nodded. The camp was like a hospital, the waiting room was filled with people, and camping beds lay beside them. Some were sick while others were wounded wrapped in bandages, helpers moved around giving food, treating the sick and helping the wounded. A Caucasian woman with blond hair came in with blankets, her hair was packed in a ponytails, her eyes, sky blue, with small pink lips and a round face. She was tall, with long legs, square shoulders and a square physique. “You are back and late,” she said to Gia, she had a thick Russian accent that was hard to understand sometimes. “I came into some trouble,” Gia looked at the new people she rescued causing the woman to look as well; “Irena, you are too tense,” Gia smiled in a suggestive way. Irena scoffed, “do not flirt with me, I am not that type,” she walked away handing over the things in her hand to the people that needed them. “Get Gus, he will take them to their designated area,” she ordered. Gia walked down the hall, rooms were used as kitchens, dressing room for both male and females; one had a table were people were treated before and others were used to store food, supplies and weapons. As she walked down the halls, someone grabbed her hand and pushed her against the wall; before she could speak his lips met hers and they kissed. She felt the cold steel of a blade pierce her stomach, her eyes opened as her warm blood flowed out; his eyes opened and she saw his dark eyes. His lips left hers slowly, “I had no choice,” he spoke and she fell to her knees then to the floor. Apart from the colour of his eyes and the look of betrayal in them the rest of him was a blur. His black combat boots she saw, as she breathed slowly, she heard footsteps approaching but saw only black boots. “Finally,” a voice said it sounded familiar but she could not place it. All she knew was, it was a woman. “Who knew, you do have balls. Here I thought your balls were controlling your thoughts,” the person who spoke left. Gia’s eyes were closed but she was still alive, tears fell from the side of her head. “Finally, rid of her,” he spoke leaving her as she was slowly covered in a pool of her own blood. She heard the footsteps of someone approaching. Something cold and metallic was placed in her hand and a soft kiss on her forehead. Her last moments were filled of regret, betrayed by the one she loved and one she trusted. It was too late and in her last breath she let go of the regret. Suddenly, her eyes flung open and she took in a forceful breath. In her living room she opened her eyes. She looked at her phone that lay on the chair. She did not have any appointments which meant no work. She looked at the television that showed a documentary on the holocaust. “Good job Gia, you know things about war spook you out, good job,” she cleared her throat. She looked at the messages on her phone, her aunty marrying her ex-fiancé seemed like the perfect excuse for her brother to call. Everyone only had one question, how are you feeling? She wished she could reply, “He was so small I asked him if it was in yet,” but it seemed petty and childish. She placed her knees together, turned off the television and sat up slowly. She felt a sharp pain to her stomach; the same place she was stabbed in her dream. She lifted her top, but saw nothing; she remembered the dream and scoffed. She did not like to be spooked out, she did not like things that could not be explained that was why she never participated in watching crime shows and all that. It left many uncertainties that she could not quantify. She rushed to the shower, brushed her teeth, had her bath; got dressed in a skirt and shirt with a long jacket. Took her bag, phone charger, phone and tab; she had to get out of the house with, the marriage, dream and holocaust she needed something she understood. She got into her car, where was she going? Why was she paranoid? She had wine and no food; that could explain the pain in her stomach all she needed was food and reality. She drove to a restaurant, they had outdoor canopies which was where she sat; she ordered a full breakfast and began to eat. Her phone buzzed, she looked at it then shook her head. She forced a smile, “jello,” she answered and the person at the other end, spoke. She sighed at a request then forced a smile as if the person was right in front of her, ‘tonight, sure, definitely, see you tonight,” she ended the call and sighed. She heard footsteps of someone approaching, thinking it was the waiter, she didn’t look up. ‘Someone bothering you?” a masculine voice spoke, she looked up. A tall man with chestnut brown skin, slim muscular build, low hair cut; brown eyes; full lips, high cheek bones and a defined jaw line with rather big ears and a wide nose stood before her. “Samuel,” she uttered while he took the seat in front of her, “I knew I should have just sat at the loner’s table,” she muttered. “It doesn’t exist,” he replied in a snooty tone, “you are grown up,” he added with a look of regret on his face. “You mean since you last saw me, about fourteen years ago?” she asked in a judgemental tone. “Gia, I did what I thought was right?” he replied humbly which brought out a resentful laugh out of her. “Definitely, why stay back home with my little sister when can I drop her off and go on to become the world’s biggest and best basketballer?” she spat indignantly. “Mom and dad are family,” he said softly and she shot a look at him with tears in her eyes. “Five years, Samuel, five, they let welfare take us away for five years and when they got us back you dash off,” she wiped the tear that fell. “I am in no mood to reminisce, so tell me what you want and you can leave,” she became hostile. She looked at her plate of eggs with a small placement of long rice, red sauce and chopped veggies. “I wanted to see how you are doing?” he felt bad about his decision but she felt worse about how he treated her; his leaving made her look like a burden he was happy to off load when he left so abruptly. “Great, bye,” she answered softly then looked up at him, “I know you want me to forgive you so you could feel less guilty about whatever it is you feel but I can’t do that. It is hard, fourteen years, you never called or visited, I had to see you on TV or the internet and I got the message, stay away, you were holding me back.” Her words caused worry wrinkles to appear on his fore head, “I found out I had a nephew when your baby mama put it on her Instagram page,” she sighed out loud. “I know it must have been hard but those years I needed it to build myself,” as he tried to explain she just ate and drank her glass of water which she believed was better than any juice or tea or coffee. She finished eating without acknowledging him since most of what he said sounded like rubbish to her. “Say something,” he pleaded, she looked up and noticed people taking his picture. “I don’t want to ruin the career that took fourteen years to build,” she asked for the cheque, paid and walked away. If she heard him correctly, he said if she had gone with him, he would been more worried about taking care of her than playing. She understood that all she felt was true, she was the burden that was holding him back and he cut her lose to be able to fly. All she was saying was, now that he was flying, he should soar and leave the pedestrians to do their walking. The call was from a client one that she had politely turned down so many times, it was becoming embarrassing. Breakfast was ruined but her belly trouble was gone, she just needed food; she decided to treat herself to the movies when her mother called. She answered the phone, ‘tell me have you two patched things up,” her mother’s voice was so loud she did not need to put it on speaker. “No,” she replied softly then put it on speaker and placed it into the cupholder compartment as her phone was slim. Her car was a Toyota; she did not know what model; she didn’t really care about cars. All she knew was it was white and it made her have a good day so she loved it. It was a small car that could barely contain one person in the back seat so no one ever sat there. The seats were golden and the dashboard black, she kept her car clean, it was her trophy. “Why not, he is trying to make amends,” her mother was bad at being the voice of reasoning. “I don’t want to,” Gia replied, “do I not have a right in this matter or should I turn over because he gave Lamar tickets and you whatever you wanted.” Lamar was her father, she still called them by their first names. They were not on good terms and things got worse when they took Sam’s side because he gave gifts. “Season tickets and my personalised saloon, things don’t come cheap,” her mother emphasised, and Gia scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Gifts are free that’s why it’s called a gift so technically you got it cheap,” she shot back, her phone buzzed; she pulled over at the side of the road and looked at her text. She was called in by another club, she smiled, put her phone down and turned the car around. “Gia are you listening,” her mother was talking about blood and how she should try to see the good to be able to overcome her pain. Of course, she would, she is the woman with a new salon and so much buzz that always keeps her busy. “Vivian, you let me do me, I have work,” she said and cut the call. She hates it when parents interfere, they were on her side when they thought he forgot them but tickets and a saloon changed their minds, pathetic, she thought. She drove down second street until she got to the dead part of the city, it was called the dead part because it was where fetishes fully lived; accepted without any condemnation. She parked her car in front of a recreational centre or at least a former one, the glass doors were painted by a street artist. The art was a crying man with a full white beard, a crown with three pointed edges; his head lifted at the sight of a coming meteorite on a night filled with stars. She took a few minutes in her car and let out a huge sigh, this was her job only for the first time she was not feeling like coming to work or seeing anyone anymore.