Chapter 10: Chapter Nine - "Snaps, Chat"

The shuffling of the shoes gets slower.

"Ludivina," the woman they claim to be my mother says, trying to put her hands around me.

The second blast goes off.

This time, the shuffling stops and I hear a hard drop, right on the gravel.

"I think I got him," says Zero, releasing a wad of saliva from his mouth afterwards, shooting it right at the ground below him, that which rested beside his dirty, pointy, rough-ended boots.

The last bits of light flash before my eyes, making me realize I've fallen on the ground. My grandmother is helping me up when I put-together what has happened, and what I need to do.

Run to him. Run to him. Run to him, my brain repeats, cycling the order from myself with hopeless, and maybe pointless, rationales.

I run to Moritz. His shoes rest side by side, with their heel pointed upward and their toe pointed downward, touching the ground, the dirt. All I was thinking about was helping him get up.

"Ludivina!" I hear behind me, from two voices.

My legs pick-up in speed that I pass Zero even though he got a head start—slapping me back and all.

"Stupid girl," I hear him say as I run by.

Stupid girl.

Moritz' face is resting off to the side. His eyes are lost past the sundown. The tip of the sun is the only thing that remains before the light gets lost behind the hills, the slums.

A tinkle of blood sprouts out from Moritz' mouth, and I see his lungs spread out towards me, then back in, towards his body. Another tinkle of blood springs out, with a cough, and then...another.

I drop to my knees and meet him at eye-level. I lay flat on the ground.

"We brought her to you. We did our job. Now you do yours," I vaguely hear behind me.

What do you say right now? What can you say right now?

***************

The first cough I ever heard Moritz cough, happened in a science class in fifth grade. We became friends that day because I offered him one of my cough drops. Mint was the flavor. Boring ol' mint because that's all my grandmother ever bought. It was always the simple stuff with her—my grandmother.

Moritz took the cough drop and then shared a Twizzler with me. That's what he had in his backpack. I'm not sure if it was his favorite candy, but I don't think so, because I never really saw him eat any more Twizzlers after that. Or maybe it was that I put him off to them? Oh god.

From fifth grade to high school, Moritz stayed close to me, and I to him. I didn't get along with much of the girls at school—at least not with any of the ones I "should have gotten along with" (whatever the hell that meant). As a result of this characteristic trait, Moritz, 'till this day, has been my closest friend—apart from my grandmother.

I helped Moritz with his homework, and he helped me with my kicking curves and free-kicks. It wasn't until freshman year that he asked me to be his girlfriend. And to think of it, I never really gave him an answer. I just kissed him.

Laying down, looking straight into Moritz' dark pupils, I leaned in and touched his lips with mine.

Saltiness comes through at first, the blood is everywhere. I lean back and turn him over. Right over his right rib, two holes leak out, straight through his sweater, past his sports team's shirt.

"What did you do?" I ask, holding back the tears. I don't want to show him what this moment is—for me and for him.

"Wait up," says Luviel, stopping Zero's paces, his trekking.

Moritz manages to turn himself over.

I help him by placing my hand under him and helping him lift his body.

Nobody can see us here. But then again, I'm not sure if anyone ever saw us, anywhere; once we crossed the Wall, to this side, I'm not sure if anyone ever knew we existed, if life knew, if faith had us in mind, or maybe, we were in faith's mind the whole time, and this was our faith; I wonder if this was Moritz' faith, or if this will be his faith because of me, like it was at my uncle's store, with the first human I ever witness being deleted.

"Help me up, I can still make it," says Moritz, putting pressure onto the hand he had robbed from me, now bloody in his DNA, covered in him.

Moritz gets up before Luviel and Zero reach us. But I don't think they're in a hurry, because I don't think they think Moritz can get anywhere, at any time.

**************************

My grandmother and the other lady with my name, and a few of the younger Catz, and Oso and Congo, begin to kick their way to me, and my captors. In this desert-like area, a scene like this takes the prize for entertainment of the hour, or minute, or second, or even year--however long it takes, whatever happens here, around us, takes the performance, the spotlight, for all of these residents watching silently, doing nothing.

To all those simply eating their popcorn and doing nothing at all—although, being how poor they are, they'd probably only have kernels to eat—thank you; thank you for doing nothing; maybe the nothing you did is the nothing I needed to show me everything is nothing.

Moritz takes his first step towards the outskirts again, towards any vehicle sounds that could be caught, and at this moment, Zero takes another four steps forward. Moritz' attempted-running turned into attempted-walking, which then turned into attempted-skipping, will surely get nowhere. He's too bad. He's too bad to run.

"Stop, please," I tell Moritz (although I wouldn't mind if Zero stopped too), catching up to him and helping him stand while he hangs onto his wounded leg with one arm and wraps the other arm around my shoulder for balance.

"Come on," Moritz tells me. "We can outrun them. We trained for this."

I laugh a little and keep hold of him.

"Ludivina!" I hear again, from Zero and Luviel and my grandmother...and strangely, from the new woman that rode into our life within the trail of dust.

"This wasn't part of the plan, miss divine!" Oso shouts. He doesn't even bother coming-up to tell me.

"Don't get hurt," follows Congo.

The sundown behind the houses was almost gone, unlike Mortiz' will to keep pushing, to keep moving forward.

"Hand him over, sweet-tart," says Zero. "I don't want you ending up like him."

"Love isn't worth it," says Luviel.

But what does she know about love? If she is who she says she is, she left the person that claimed to love her—my grandmother—years ago. So what does she know?

"Why are you making your girlfriend do this?" Oso asks, in his usual arriviste way, the only way he knows to be.

Then a snap comes from behind, like a strong gust of wind, pushing me forward, slamming me back to the ground, but this time, without Moritz.

I look back, once I'm on the ground, and see Zero now under Moritz' shoulder, taking up my job, now being his human-crutch.

"What are you doing, boy?"

"Get away from me! What do you all want with us! I don't want to die!"

I run back to try and push Zero aside, but Luviel kicks me back.

"Not a good move, Divine!"

"Ludivina!" I then hear my grandmother cry, running up to me.

******************

I see the sky.

I'm flat on my back. That is how I land: flat on my back.

The stars are coming out. Either that, or the hit did a number on me and caused stars to form in my mind.

But besides getting hit or not, and besides if the stars are real or not, they are out.

Or at least, they are coming out. The stars are coming out.

The Stars are aligning.

That's what my brain hopes.

But with the stars, comes the darkness.

"Mom!" I hear someone cry.

But the stars look too pretty to look away.

Pressure stomps onto my chest, lifting my arms and feet off of the ground—not for long, but for a few seconds.

Using whatever strength remains, I lift my neck up, just enough, to see who is pounding the pressure on me: it's Luviel.

"What are you doing, Divine?" she asks, looking down at me.

Has she always been looking down on me? Since she arrived—has she seen me as this: what she has done to me physically? Made me the bottom part of her shoe.

"Get off of her!" the lady with my grandmother tells Luviel, pushing her off of me.

"Easy!" says Oso.

Then Zero comes in.

The shoe is off of me, at least.

Remember that crowd that formed outside my uncles store when Oso took me? Because that's what right now feels like. Oso, Congo, Zero, Moritz, my grandmother, the lady (with my name), Luviel, a few young Catz--they all huddle around me.

"If we hand them over, you leave your post," says Zero, looking at the lady who is still holding my grandmother.

"What post?" my grandmother mutters.

"You know I can't do that yet. Not until you sign the deal to take care of my people," says the lady (with my name).

Zero, still holding Moritz, laughs.

"What's so funny?"

Zero swings Moritz' arm off of him, as if Moritz didn't want to swing it off himself. But he pushes Moritz back, throwing him down to the ground.

"Yeah, run to him," says Luviel, taunting my action after her action to take her foot off of my chest—per—and only—per request.

"You want us to take care of your people just not to shoot you now?" says Zero, aiming the gun on his strap straight at Moritz and I while looking at the lady (with my name).

The Lady (with my name) got in the way. She left my grandmother's side and got in the way of Zero's gun being aimed at Moritz and I.

"Okay, I'll hand over the control," she says.

Zero laughs.

"There's no need to," he says. And at that exact moment, right from behind, one of the young Catz snuck up on the lady (with my name) and knocked her out cold. They used a large rock—I had seen them when we arrived, they were all over the road—to hit her.

My grandmother begins to scream. And the lady—the lady with my name—she just lies on the ground, the floor, her blood sprinkled beside her, right where she had been hit.

*********************

I pushed Moritz with me, walking towards the Lady (with my name) and my grandmother. But before we reached them, part of the young Catz that seemed to be awaiting orders when we arrived—like we were when we buried those soldiers—were now taking the orders they had received, and were so anxiously waiting for when we did arrive.

My grandmother was wrapped up, just like those young soldiers.

And Moritz was taken off of my shoulder.

Even the lady with my name, while lying on the floor, was wrapped.

Those plastic bands the Catz like to use so much, came back out: one for Moritz, one for myself, one for my grandmother, and one for the Lady (with my name).

I could see that the wounds on Moritz were getting worse, and he looked weaker too.

"We need to get him help. We need to get him to a hospital," I said, as they tied me up.

"We got her here," said Oso, lifting the lady (with my name)'s body.

The next thing I saw was nothing, because that's what is was: nothing.

Here we go again: darkness. Darkness is what we see. It's what we're used to, when we're only, used to the abuse.

**********************************************

I awoke to the same shaking I felt when they were taking us to the desert-like place. I still can't see anything. But I feel the shaking.

"We're almost there," I begin to hear. It's Luviel. That's my guess. From what I can hear, and from what I can make up, I guess it's Luviel.

"She's still in the same house, eh?" I then heard. This voice was also easier. But could this be because I was in the same situation as when I was taken with my grandmother and Moritz; are they around me now too; is that why all of this seems "easier"?

What does "easier" mean?

"I think she does," I hear Luviel say.

If my guess is anywhere as accurate as I hope it is in a situation like this, I would guess that I was in the same situation I was when my grandmother and Moritz and I were taken. The surface feels the same. It's that rough, cold type. It's that ruffled type, where the edges and creases of the material and holding when you take the seats out of a vehicle feel like mountains and knives on your body. The only difference from this time to last time is that this time my feet, my hands--they're all nicely tied tightly as if not to let any slight chance of slipping to where the mouse could escape because of a wrongdoing of the Cat(z).

I want to hear Moritz and my grandmother, but I hear nothing.

I feel everything: I feel the surface, and the fear, and the doubt. I just don't feel the assurance of where, or to what, they—Luviel and Zero—were taking us for as I did the last time.

Soon after, I hear the motorbike. I hear that roar we all heard when the trail of dust smoke appeared in our distance, and when Zero said "here she comes."

"Jesus, he looks bad," Luviel says.

I don't know who she is talking about because I can't see to confirm my pretty-good-guess, but if I could, I would believe it is Moritz, not only by what I'm seeing on our last trip in this van—if it is the same van—but also by the "he" that Luviel—if it is Luviel—used in her proclamation, her statement. "He's getting pretty white," she then says.

I want to speak. But like my vision, that right has been revoked from me.

What does get out, are a few blabbers, a few hums that come from someone trying to say something under the material and fabric of duct tape--lots and lots of duct tape.

********************

"Fuck it, we're almost there," said Zero, before raising the music to a blasting level—an unlistenable volume number.

This tune hummed to the heavy-metal beat of Slayer.

A sense of fearless stride towards death played in the background—or as I should better say, over my background, over my voice, over my plea, my shouting, my purring.

What I felt, was more roughness. I felt the tossing of the ground, and the pulling, all over my body. I felt everything—from the vehicle turning sharper, to it not turning sharper...not like the last time, when we were off to meet that special someone.

Perhaps there are finally no more meetings, and all there are, are endings.

Is that where Zero and Luviel are taking us to? To our endings?

Then the motorbike engine comes and roars again. I hear—no, I feel—that, even over the music...I feel the whole roars.

I could feel the engine as the dust trail first made its way towards us. But unlike last time, this time, I feel more than one engine. This time, I feel more than two, even three, even four—on all sides of me. Undulation comes from everywhere, turning and tossing my body like a pancake on a crazy chef's pan.

These motors must be bigger than anything we've seen; anything that's carried us. Here. Or there. Or anywhere. Anywhere is nowhere anyway. In here, at least. On this side of the Wall.

Therefore, those roars are either Oso and Congo and other Catz, or they are our gravediggers. Like we, were for those young soldiers, perhaps, it is now, Zero and Luviel getting rid of us.

But why the Lady (with my name)?

What was all this for?

The music got louder as if to cheer on and play for a bigger audience. And I felt the outside wind coming in, like a window had opened. Then screams—but the good kind of screams, like shouts, when people are partying.

And shouts from the other side of the vehicle came too—in Congo and Oso's voice.

When the roars came, the voices came too, and the music got louder.

It was the van DJ now playing my life. Not the Black Catz DJ—not in a bar anymore—but the van DJ, in the van.

****************************

This one time, when my grandmother went to South Africa for a business trip, she came back with plenty of pictures. One of them, was of vans with lights and plenty of people in them. She said they were a form of taxi in South Africa. She said since people can't afford to take no cab anywhere—at least not the locals—they would hop on locally-made-ride-share programs, which were these vans. She said she hopped on one once, just to see what it was like. And she said it was way better than a cab. There was more life, more stories. The people were nicer.

All those features I remember from what she told me of this locally-made-ride-sharing program in South Africa, are completely different to what I felt now, in this side's "ride-sharing-program."

"Pull the van inside," I hear a voice from outside the window shout.

They should have said "the van of death," I think.

I would shout it, but what's the point? Not only for the duct tape over my mouth, but also for the faith that inevitably awaits me—AGAIN.

I want to fall asleep, I want to go back to the darkness, so that I don't have to live through this whole unanticipated trip. But I can't; I can't go back to sleep; I can't go back to the darkness. So I stay up. I keep my eyes closed because there is no use in opening them—if I even could, fully, under this tape—so I just keep them closed, with ears open—the only things that can open—always listening:

The music stays in rotation to Slayer. Probably fitting, considering the ride "to hell" we're on. Whoever is with me, if anyone—I hope someone—I hope we didn't leave anyone behind. At least not my grandmother, or Moritz, and even, for some reason, I would say that lady with my name—I hope none stayed behind.

After trying to get comfortable and not succeeding, I simply lay; I lay there just letting Slayer and the next heavy-metal band they put on to blow my ears out, well, blow my ears out.

Unfortunately, however, the music does not physically blow out my ears and despoil of my hearing, and, therefore, I am still able to hear what the driver and their passenger are talking about. And since it's—from what I can hear—a man and a woman—and going off of what has already happened and what I've seen with my own eyes, I'll guess it's Zero and Luviel, which leads me to eavesdrop on their conversation. It's as if my ears got tired of the music and they focused on the voices instead. Maybe so much heavy-metal music can seem like no heavy metal music after so long.

"So the plan was never to take her," said Zero.

"We can deal with it later. I got her keys. And after she signs the documents and turns over all the keys, we can kill her like the rest," says Luviel—or who I think to be Luviel.

"And what about the Catz?"

"What about them?"

"Are we going to keep them around?"

"We'll keep them around for as long as they need to be around," says Luviel.

"They can be a good ally, don't you think?"

"Depends how much they're willing to give up. And how much they're willing to listen."

"I can kill those two though," says Zero, making Luviel laugh.

"I wouldn't stop you. They don't know how to shut up. And this whole plan was ours anyways."

I can assume, now, hearing them, that perhaps, maybe they haven't killed anyone and we didn't leave anyone behind. That maybe my worst nightmares haven't become reality—yet.

"I want the girl," says Luviel.

"Which one?"

Luviel laughs:

"Both."

"Easy. We need one alive so the other can sign. Then you can have them," replies Zero.

"She's kept us from taking over this whole shithole for years. For what? To try her "doo good" project?"

"Yeah, and we'll have our revenge. But easy. We need her people."

A rumble kicks. I look down but hate myself for it because I can't see shit and my brain made me believe I still could.

I then hear my brain give me a "your welcome" from above.

***********************************

"Her areas are the last one's we need to truly control," says Luviel.

The music stops. Everything stops. So does the motor.

Then I hear shingling, like somebody is opening a gate that's been enclosed by thick, wrapped pairs of chains.

A clamper clamps and snaps. I then hear the chains break and fall to the floor.

"Pull her in," I hear a rough voice say.

"You shou-da directed me sooner, dummy," Zero replies.

The engine starts up again. The rumbling under me continues. Then there's another kick.

The music kicks on. But before it did, a tiny mutter came from the direction of the kick. All it sounded like was a scream trapped under the tape.

The engine pushes us forward for a few seconds, then the tires come to a halting stop. The motorbike roars were left behind us.

I felt more movement under me.

Then the doors opened-up in-front and footsteps jumped out of the van—or car—and onto the concrete, making that known with the hard landing of the soles.

I felt one more kick on my right shoe—or better yet...under my right shoe—and then I felt, and clearly heard, the giant door opens to either side of us—whoever had come with me, whoever was kicking below, was here.

Chains—the same ones I heard before we drove into wherever we are—clank and click behind me again, signaling the closing of what I assume is the gate that opened up to allow us—and show us—into where we'll probably die.

I hear sliding around me, like bodies are being dragged.

Then a tug comes onto my right arm. I am pulled out and I fall onto the concrete, smacking my right shoulder.

"Don't kill them yet!" I hear.

I am then picked up and pulled.

"Move! Come on! Pick your legs up!" I hear a screaming voice in my ear as my arms are pulled up and my legs are kicked into place.

When my feet finally grapple at a steady portion of the ground, I am taken from it and transported onto another area. I went from one hand, to another.

"Get them all into the same room. We're putting them in the back room," I heard.

"Oso, where do you want her!" I then heard, from a different voice.

Zero, not Oso, responded:

"Put her with the rest."

Aside from the clinking of more chains, I heard what I so often heard at Black Catz: round after round of ammunition being packed; then I heard ropes; and chairs; and a table; I heard lots of things, obviously, apart from that—like young voices chattering around these items—but it was these things that took my attention.

Reaching a stop because of the same hand pulling me, I am then pushed down.

"On your knees!" the voice controlling me demands.

***************

Snaps.

Snaps is all you heard when going out anywhere on the other side of the Wall. Snaps from the people always, well, snapping. People snapping everywhere.

You know the snaps I'm talking about. It's that snap your phone makes when you take a picture.

On the other side of the Wall, that snap is what you heard everywhere. Mostly, because on the other side of the Wall, kids and adults on every corner, have mobiles.

Kids snap here.

Adults snap there.

But everyone, snaps. No matter where.

At times, over the moving and wrestling and clinking of the chains, along with the clacking of bullets being racked together, snaps rang here and there. One moment I hear a snap there, and then I hear it there, and sometimes, I hear it near.

Is somebody taking pictures of us, I think?

I hear more snaps, and all at once, my eyebrows are snatched from their place.

"Welcome to what was supposed to be your home!" says the young man that ripped the tape off of my eyes.

Before me, a fire place lights up the room I've been entered into.

The nightfall has come fast.

"Put her over there," I see Oso demand from a young girl who is leading the lady (with my name).

My grandmother is kneeling on opposite ends of the fireplace.

Above the fireplace, the lady (with my name) stands tall with a white flag over rubbish in a picture in framed within a gold, thick frame.

The snaps snap again.

I turn to see a few of the young men and women taking pictures.

I was right.

"Get her up and place her there," says Zero, pointing at a young woman who is lifting my grandmother to her feet.

I am the only one without "eye bands" anymore. The rest of them—Moritz, my grandmother, the lady with name—still have their vision covered, and their eyebrows over their eyes.

I want to say a lot but I still can't. All I do is look around.

The house, or the apartment, or wherever we are, looks nice—not too elegant, but not beat down. It also appears to be the house of the lady (with my name).

Pictures of her rest over a few night stands.

"I got him, but he's not doing good," a boy's voice says.

I turn and see a boy walking into the room...with Moritz.

****************

Moritz looks worse than when I saw him before the darkness kicked in—or should I say...punched in.

"He's still bleeding," says the boy, hanging onto Moritz.

Zero grabs him--Moritz--and he throws him over a couch beside the fireplace.

I can't see if Moritz is even alive. With bands over his eyes and over his mouth, his status is hidden from us, from me. Only the boy, and Zero, those that have held and felt him, know if his pulse is still there, still beating.

"What do you think we should do with him?" asks Luviel.

Congo walks over and throws another log at the fire place, sending the flame afloat, up at the ceiling.

"He looks pretty bad," the boy with Moritz says, probably feeling for him, imagining his own loved one's in Moritz' shoes.

This makes Zero come closer, near Congo.

"He does look bad," Zero says, looking at Moritz, then at Luviel, then at Oso.

From what the fire lights, the room we are living in looks packed to capacity.

"Hey! Do you need help!" Zero screams at Moritz.

This makes Congo and Oso laugh.

"Yeah, he's really going to answer you like that," says Luviel.

"What?" says Zero.

Luviel looks at Moritz. She directs her eyes towards the bandage over his mouth and eyes.

"I said--he's really going to answer you like that:

Luviel looks at the bandage over Moritz' mouth.

"He can learn," Zero answers, laughing off the joke, while grabbing a log and throwing it into the fire to keep his burns ever-so lit.

"You alright?" Oso asks, jokingly, to Moritz.

Zero laughs:

"Yeah! You alright, boy?"

Luviel rolls her eyes.

A few of the young men and women look confused.

"How do you feel boy?" Zero repeats.

The holes in Moritz don't stop.

"Jesus Christ," says Luviel, rolling her eyes again and snapping the tape from Moritz' mouth, sending him lunging up from the stickiness of the tape.

Moritz didn't scream. He didn't shout. He didn't say anything.

He stayed there, sitting on the couch he was thrown on.

On the other side of the Wall, people would care about Moritz. But here, on this side, who the fuck cares about us?

We're like the unicorns that people didn't want to find.

We're special, or so we think.

But if we're special and we can't be noticed, then we must not be special at all.

Maybe we are just two sides.

We're already expected to be two sides. Two sides of two cultures.

**********************************

This one time, when I mentioned crossing over to this side of the Wall to my grandmother, she busted out her greatest insults and began shouted at me, telling me I couldn't cross, under any circumstances--yet.

**********************************

I wonder if this was her reason why?

"Take a picture and send it to them," said Zero, directing himself towards a youngster soldier with a mobile.

The young man takes a snap of Moritz' wounds.

He closes in on his stomach, which is where he took the bad ones. Not directly in his stomach, because if it did he would obviously be dead by now, but on his side-stomach, right near his ribs—and to be honest, I'm surprised to still see beats on Moritz' neck and palms.

"Hey kid, you think you can hold on longer," asked Oso, ripping the bandages from Moritz' eyes, leaving him like me: with half-bitten-off eyebrows.

"Dang! That must have hurt" says Luviel, looking at Oso as he rips the bandages from Moritz.

Yes, it did, I think. It did hurt a lot in deed.