Totem - Publication Short Story

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The Untold Story

I used to be brave. I played the heroine in my nightmares, and I slew every beast from one-eyed monsters to the walking dead. I loved the adrenaline rush every time I wake up, but this time, I would have wished it was all a nightmare.

The lack of light couldn’t come through the cracks and holes in this truck. I wasn’t used to this formed of darkness. This was the kind that robs your senses and substituted it with paralysing fear. It chained me and left me to cower in the corner. I was hesitant of what resided in the dark, for I was surrounded only by children wailing for God, for their parents, for help.

They said darkness was like drowning. The moment you’re underwater the instinct to not breathe is so strong that it overcomes the agony of running out of air. You become desperate, then panic sinks in, and you flail your arms and legs, but the water wrapped its tendrils around your legs and drag you inside the sea. Then you sink. You can’t see the salty water but, somehow you became entranced by the colour of the sea. You were mesmerised by the near-death experience that you become a believer. You would chant His name. Even beg Him for one last chance, and then you realised that He left you to die just like how you left Him. Then you lose consciousness.

My head lolled to one side, and my eyelids closed slowly as my eyes rolled back. I struggled to keep down the contents of my stomach. I could practically hear the waves sloshing in my ears, and I imagined myself settled in the shallow water waiting for Him. The waves teased me, pulling me further away from the shore.

The truck halted abruptly, and I banged my head on the metallic surface behind me. The metal rattled as the unidentified person slammed the door shut from the outside. Fear clung to the inside of my throat as the rattling of the lock became undone, the slight creak of the door as it slowly revealed a silhouette of a bear-like person. A man.

Dead silence.

He climbed over the truck. Muttered to himself while he inspects the kids. I should have used this opportunity to make my grand escape. I could run, and for a second, it sounded like a good plan, but instead, I was too hypnotised by the sky. I had never truly appreciated it. A blanket of grey overcast the sky, so much that there were no clouds in sight.

I was brought back from my trance by the bright flash of light shone on my face.

The man grabbed my chin, studied my face as he turned my head from left to right before asking me a question in Malay, ‘Nama?’ Name?

‘Ateena.’ I said meekly.

‘Umur?’ Age?

‘Thirteen.’

His calloused fingernails dug into my skin and scrapped a layer of it as he proceeded to latched onto my breast. I slapped his hand away, scooted myself away from him. He seized my arms over my hand, and his finger teased my nipple over my t-shirt. His ragged breath made my stomach crawl. I was tempted to vomit all over him.

He moaned at the touched of my erect nipple, ‘Body, very good quality. Sell fast.’ He patted my breast before heading towards the exit and slammed the door shut.

I was thankful for the silence he had bestowed upon all of us.

Why didn’t I retaliate when he touched me? Is it because I knew it was inevitable and that I was scared, or that I didn’t want to believe that I had a chance to escape. I knew that anything was better than being inside here and yet, I didn’t do anything.

I was pathetic and weak. That’s why I let him touch me.

#

I never knew what home felt like.

I never knew what a home-cooked meal tasted like.

I never had a room or a bed.

I never once felt my home belonged to me. We had several broken windows and torn-up wallpapers. There were always strangers living in the house. Some were sleeping over for a couple of days, some were zoning out with needles laid around them, and some would be having sex on the only mattress. I refused to sleep on it. It was stained with alcohol and sauces, and it had burn marks all over it. The springs would dig into your back whenever you rolled around. The room always smelled of urine, scat, vomit and burnt hair.

I knew from a young age that my family didn’t appear like the ones on TV. We didn’t sit around the table and say grace. Not that it mattered. Food was a luxury that none of us could afford.

They weren’t like this to begin with.

My father was a traditional, pious man. A preacher. I knew he loved me when my mother would bring up stories of when I was born. It was a tradition as a Muslim father to whisper, ‘Muhammad is the messenger of Allah, come to prayer’ into the right ear so it would be the first words a newborn Muslim baby should hear. Mother saw him chewed on a date, spat out the juice on his thumb and rubbed it along my gum. Father said it was a practice carried out by the Prophet Muhammad and is believed to help the digestive system to develop.

Father promised me the world, but instead, he taught me the meaning of desperation and fear. I couldn’t remember what happened between the years, but he started drinking. I could see the rage boiling inside him, and I gradually lost my trust in him.

A part of him was lost forever, and he dragged Mother with him.

I never knew why Mother was always asleep until noon. I used to wonder why she was still tired when she had done nothing at all. I didn’t understand why Mother’s face was close to the counter or why she closed one nostril and sniffed the white powder. I wondered why one of her friends had a nosebleed afterwards. I never knew what the white powder was until the TV taught me what drugs looked it.

My mother, the cocaine addict, was unable to do any chores. I had learnt that if I needed something to be done, I had to do it by myself. Whether I needed clean clothes or a full stomach.

I was always terrified when Mother’s friends would offer me candy but the different colours and shapes tempted me. Their sweet smile carried promises of endless candy, and I timidly reached out for it, but in exchange, I granted them access to touch me everywhere.

I never hated Mother. I simply wanted more of her.

I would often steal from the grocery shop, and I thought I was slick, but the Indian man behind the counter pretended not to see me. He was a good man until someone robbed his shop and shot him in the head. He must have said something to deserve a bullet between his eyes.

I never came back.

Some days when Mother would be looking out for more drugs and it was just us in the house, I would be overwhelmed by fear and anxiety. I saw his hand twitched whenever I’m close and my hand shook every time I had to serve him alcohol.

Then something snapped.

He kept chugging down bottles and cans and I saw his palm, swung from behind him, and he slapped me. I couldn’t hear anything but buzzing and ringing, but I could sense him laughing at me. From that day on, Father would gradually increase the abuse. It always started with a palm and ended with a belt.

I begged for Mother to save me, but she was too focused on cutting up the cocaine into small, fine pieces and lining them up.

At the age of eight, I became my daddy’s little whore. He shared me around with his friends. Sometimes he would exchange me for the younger ones, but when money was running short, he realised that I was his only ticket out. He would never pass up an opportunity to make money so, he sold me to a pimp for a high price of five hundred thousand ringgit.

What’s worst is how the pimp checked the goods. My parents watched as his bony fingers stripped my clothes. He swiped my hair back to reveal my undeveloped breasts. Their eyes followed the pimp’s fingers as he advanced towards my cunt. I stepped back, in hopes he would understand my discomfort but Father held me in place and the pimp continued with his quest.

He nodded in agreement as he pulled out his finger. He shoved it in my mouth, urged me to lick it clean. The taste was like licking a nickel and no matter how many times I spat, the taste remained on my tongue. He muttered something to Father, but I couldn’t understand his thick accent.

Mother jumped in glee and Father’s arms stretched out and hugged me tightly, he thanked God for this miracle. Father tousled my hair, his lips formed a small smile ‘Finally, I don’t regret having you.’ And he pushed me into the arms of the pimp.

I waved them goodbye and wished them well.

I only wanted to be a good daughter.

And I was.

#

(Continuation)

I hated being in a windowless room especially during September. It’s dry season. The worst part was I had to share it with twenty other kids. Their age varies from seven to fourteen.

This once cold concrete floor was slowly lacking its appeal as sweat trickled down my back and my hair laid like a second skin over my cheeks. My tongue licked my lips, and I could taste the metallic flavour between the cracks. Swallowing was a slow, agonising pain. I could describe as someone forced acid down my throat. It was this constant pulsating pain. I wanted a tall glass of ice water. I just needed a sip. Enough to settle down the pounding in my head. I panted, thought it would somewhat cool me down.

It didn’t.

I threw my arm over my eyes and waited for my brain to shut down. I wanted the day to end. I was greeted by an unusual dream. I was surrounded by sand, and I saw another version of myself. She stared directly at me, with her arms wide apart and she jumped into quicksand. I yelled, waved my arms around, desperately tried to get her attention.

She didn’t respond.

I ran towards her and even tried to pull her out, but she didn’t budge. She just stared at me, and her pupils grew so big they consumed the white of her eyes.

I watched her drown.

I woke up and felt unsatisfied but fortunately, the memory of my nightmare faded out and I was left with this feeling of detachment.

I peeked at a teenage boy through the gaps in my arms. His paper-white arms wrapped around his legs. His slender figure made his t-shirt appeared twice as big. It almost looked like it would eat him up. His freshly buzzed hair made his cheekbones seemed to be prominent.

There was always this unspoken attraction, but we never had any interactions. I never dared to say hello.

His ears twitched, almost as if he sensed me ogling him. He lifted his head, and he didn’t bother to wipe the sweat trails on his upper lip. He muttered something before raising his voice.

He recited in Malay:

When the drought comes

Shadows embraced the scattered cogon grass

Dry seasons spread like an incurable disease

Trees in the fields screamed miserably

When the drought comes

Creatures worships a drop of water

Seeking to appease the unquenchable thirst

As dust dances along with the wind

When the drought comes

Rice fields and rivers are dying

Water appeared to be gold

Water is a treasure trove

When drought comes

Twigs bear as witnesses

That water will never touch the earth again

Reluctant due to the mountain of sins

#

My cheeks would heat up at the sight of another naked body as I undress, but as the years progressed, this room had managed stripped my innocence. It made me envious of the increased of undeveloped breasts, the smooth pubic bone, the missing front teeth. I often fondled my breasts as to examine the changes. The once proud A-cup breasts were now slowly forming into two round mounds, and I silently prayed for my breasts to be gone, to flatten out.

I’ve beaten them senselessly, pulled my nipples till it turned dark purple in hopes it would deflate. If I do the same beating routine every day, it’ll eventually stop growing. I just need patience.

I didn’t want to admit that my body was sculpted and moulded into a woman.

I hated it.

I just needed more time. It’ll go away. I’m sure of it. I prayed.

#

The teenage boy’s name was Abdul. He told me he was glad that I made the first move, as he was too shy to even smile at me. His cheeks turned red whenever we made eye contact.

It was a lovely feeling.

I told him how I wanted to go home, and how I didn’t want to sell my body anymore. He said me he was tricked into believing that they offered him a job. He had six younger siblings, and he would never be able to see them grow up.

I told him that it must be nice to have someone to love since I had none. He squeezed my hand and promised to be by my side forever. He was confident he had planned to escape, but he needed an accomplice. He told me where the exit doors were, but only one of us could escape and find help.

I had to distract the pimp and then he would make his way out.

I believed him.

We waited for weeks because I kept chickening out, but he convinced me that this is the only way to freedom.

I was an A-rated actress. I wept, I retched, I howled. I pulled every dirty little trick.

When the pimp was distracted with me, and his back turned away from Abdul, he took it as a signal and ran. I tried holding onto the pimp’s legs, putting all my weight. I hoped to buy Abdul more time.

I assumed it did.

I waited for him, and I couldn’t wait to show him the black eye I got from getting punched in the face. I wore it with pride as I counted the days for when he would return.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.

The light inside me slowly dimmed when I realised he had betrayed me.

No one was coming for me.

I’m stuck here.

#

I hated this job.

I hated how much it affected me.

How I craved for love and affection.

They never called my name whenever they came inside me. They would call me a good-for-nothing whore, baby doll, little oriental princess, cum dump but never my name.

I want them to stop coming inside me.

At times, I sensed my soul leaving my body. It was floating in the sex room, and it watched as men entered the room and fucked me senselessly. It wept whenever a customer handled me roughly. At times, teeth were involved, and they would often leave trails of bruises all over my body.

I couldn’t handle it anymore. I had wished, begged, and prayed for strength to escape or for someone to come and save me from this hell hole.

But no one did.

I wrapped my hand with tissues and cleaned out the leftover cum inside my cunt. I needed to be presentable for the next customer, or else I’ll get beaten. I slipped on my sheer nightgown and waited for the next man or woman. A knock on the wooden door and a somewhat older looking gentleman came in. His age had dragged his skin down, turned his smile into a frown. His eyes twinkled with promises of twenty minutes of lackluster pleasure.

He demanded me to get on the floor and suck him off. I dragged myself towards him and fell to my knees. My hand still trembled despite doing it countless times. I never enjoyed doing those things, but it’s better here than in that cramped room.

I mentally prepared myself. I used his pre-come as a lubricant and jerked off his flaccid cock in my hand. My lips touched the tip of his penis, an effort to tease him. I swallowed it, it tickled my gag reflex, but I kept going. I just want it to be over. My head bobbed up and down furiously, and his legs trembled as his hands gripped my head in place as he released his seed with a loud groan.

A loud groan that saved me.

The authorities barged into the room. The man in the uniform pulled him off me and rammed the man’s frail body on the wall. They screamed in his face as they cuffed him. He pleaded for the officer to not report him and that he would pay them handsomely. I was glad they ignored his plea, and he was escorted out from the room

I must have looked horrible with my body battered up and smelled of cum. I didn’t care what happened afterwards. I only recalled the warm blanket they wrapped around me and the promises of safety.

#

They put me into a protection house.

The woman in charge of me was a chatter. Her hands moved around wildly in front of me as she tried to explain to me about my new life in this house and all the friends that I’ll make. She told me that I wasn’t alone anymore and that she understood my situation. She said people here could fix me up and all I needed was little guidance to re-discovered Him.

What she failed to tell me, were the predators that hide among the shadows in that house. The constant sexual abuse coming from the guard. The man who should have given me a sense of security now sneaked into my bedroom to take his weekly stress relief.

This happened every Thursday night. He came into my room and gagged my mouth with a sock. Then he would fuck me so hard, and before he rolled his eyes back in ecstasy, he would whisper in between harsh breath about how much of good girl I was or how beautiful I looked with his cum all over or how he would put a child inside me.

He wrapped his fingers around my throat and squeezed it till I was close enough to pass out. Enough to leave temporary fingerprints. He enjoyed putting himself on me. He would then kiss me goodnight and tucked me in. Before he headed out, he’ll position his finger on my lips and made a hushing sound. He rewarded me with candy and he always had a pocket full of candy. He rolled it around my lips before popped one inside my mouth.

I didn’t tell anyone.

This was home and I couldn’t afford to lose it. What the guard didn’t know, he wasn’t the only one who wanted me.

The founder of the protection place knew my story, and he took the opportunity to rape me. I never understood what the word rape meant until the TV spoke about it. The lady in a suit with a slick ponytail was preaching about underage prostitution and girls being trafficked into Malaysia.

They didn’t need to smuggle me in because I never left the country.

#

I wrote a letter to my parents.

Dearest Mother and Father,

I apologise for not sending my regards to you sooner. My life has gotten better, and I hope yours too. People here provided me with a beautiful room, a warm bed, free meals. Anything you could have imagined.

I’m safe now. I think.

I imagined father finally straighten out his path in re-discovering God and Mother, I sincerely prayed you cut down your intake of cocaine. It’s not good for you but I’m thankful that you didn’t start taking it back when you were pregnant with me.

The police found me during working hours and I’m always grateful for that day. They no longer have control over me and I don’t have to go back to that small room ever again. It was awful. I hated bath time the most. They would tell us to get in a line and would hose us down. A kid died from hyperthermia, and I didn’t even know her name. No one did.

I fell in love with this boy. I thought it was love. Although, he betrayed my trust, I was willing to forgive him, if he had come back. I never knew what happened to him after the police raided the place. I think he might be dead.

It’s funny how I thought I was shipped to another country, but I’ve always been here. Why didn’t you come for me?

Thursday is the one day I hoped to skip.

I was raped countless times. Doesn’t that bother you one bit? Don’t you have any ounce of sympathy for me? I’m your daughter, no?

Then again, I don’t blame you for selling me off. Honestly, I’m glad I serve a purpose.

I wanted you to know that I’ll always and forever love you. I’ve written a poem for you. Although it might sound like a love letter:

I want to love you simply,

In words not spoken:

tinder to the flame which transforms it to ash

I want to love you simply,

In signs not expressed:

clouds to the rain which make them evanescent

I never sent it off.

#

I celebrated my new year by myself.

I noticed the temperature had dropped these past few weeks, but it wasn’t raining season. Not for a couple more month. I watched the water droplets raced with one another on the window. I unlocked it and let the breeze in. I was high up. The house was surrounded by trees and bushes, and I could see the neighbour’s bedroom from a particular angle. Sometimes I imagine myself as a part of their family.

I laid my palm on my stomach, in hopes that my unborn child would understand my decision. I couldn’t live like this anymore. It was less about death but more about ending the pain. I wanted to feel alive and being on this ledge made me feel like I finally took charge of my body

This is the path that I chose.

No regrets.

Drove without a feeling of fear.

We got carried away and can never escape

Facing the life-threatening attacks of life's problems.

Life is sometimes so difficult.

While the plans were stopped by unseen troubles.

Your chest feels tight as if your choked feeling restless

Your heart’s moans of restlessness.

Despite the pain of this, life must continue to be lived

Keep planning, working and improving yourself.

Moreover, let God decide the rest of this destiny

Get the best out of it.

The days feel long when the problem comes

The beauty of the world seems dim as shadows.

Every step seemed like your flying

When spirit of life began to disappear.

#

This was fragments of the untold true story of Ateena.

A young woman whose lived swept under the system

Perished behind the cloaked of lies and uncertainty

Never to be mentioned

Only to be forgotten