To Live Her Life

Oceané sat away from all of the other women and few male and female children who were in the small dirty little laundry room. The older women had seen the purple bruise that littered, spotted against her pale-ish colored cheek and against her thin wrist. Although no one knew who had done it nor why, they knew what had happened to the younger girl. Or at least that someone had done it to her.

Disapproving looks kept being shot at her, piercing her very soul over and over again. Still, Oceané hid her face from their view in hopes of making herself feel more...secure. But it didn't work. Self consciousness was still present, even more so when the others realized that she was trying to hide from their looks.

Not one of them didn't believe she deserved what she had gotten as punishment, for whatever she had done. It was cruel to think, sure. However this was the way they had grown up. Being even 30 years of age now would mean a minimum of 27 or 28 in the worst case senerio. Their lives were spent strictly doing as they were told as well as obeying the things they were taught. Some life that is 'ay.

Mayine was an Arabian man as well. At barely 23, he still had grown up with the superior title and thinking when compared to women.

To them, Oceané had only set herself up for the treatment. The let down of being treated “wrongly” because she as well...had done wrong.

If only she had listened

If only she hadn't given in...

Maybe everything would be different if those were the case.

If she hadn't been so free to let Youri loosen her from her thoughts, she hadn't gotten close to him. If only.

Yet Youri was still her savior, that much no one could deny. Still, he had tried to change her and make her forget everything she has ever known; everything that was taught to her and that she had to listen to for her whole entire life.

She lost herself in a fantasy world where everything seemed almost...perfect

And look where that had gotten her.

A broken body and mind, not obviously literally, though it felt like it all the time nowadays. And the disowning of the only few of her people she could dream of having here to be with. Even if she tried to talk to the other women, she was sure she would be ignored and treated like trash.

Among her own people for God's sakes!

She vowed to herself then, as she was mending a militant's damaged shirt with a needle and thread, that she would go back. Back to wherever Mayine had been speaking about. Being free.

She wasn't about to let anyone in again however; all they do is leave anyways. Oceané hated the ill treatment of her past 14 years and even more, although it was the only way. The right way?

The thin silver coated, broken in two, needle was pushed harshly into the green and brown colored heavy fabric. Then after the struggle to get the blunt, flat instead of pointed end, through, she did once all over again to bring the needle back out from the inside of the clothing. Having a pointed, sharp needle was unheard of after all.

She sighed as she wiggled the metal back and forth as it was buried within the fabric but never coming through, it was useless.

It took her working at the clothing for multiple minutes just to even get the needle through (and that doesn't even count the time to get a single stitch). She had a pile of similar looking clothes lazily thrown into a torn up box to her left, waiting to get the same treatment at some point in time. Maybe. It was bound to be an all-night job at this rate.

Every now and then, a little nicknack or piece of paper was found in the simple, small pockets located near the breast of a button up shirt. So far, she found a few worn and barely recognizable coins, small somewhat shiny though worn looking rocks, a picture drawing of a child and a couple simple briefly worded notes. All of these were placed into her own pockets for the moment, she would in time put them into a bin, a sort of lost and found if you will. None of these tiny items could be placed in the wash bin or they would be ruined in no time... Common sense right?

None of the other women cared much about this task of emptying pockets and didn't even think of doing such task, to them this was a slaves job and they despised being in the laundry room and doing just that. Laundry. So they could care less about saving a soldiers personal, sentimental objects.

Oceané, however couldn't do such a thing. She hatted the job of course but she also felt the obligation to keep these found things for the people they belonged to. The items weren't hers to ruin nor throw away. They would be missed by whomever's they were.

She finished the last stitch on the previous shirt and laid it in a “finished” pile, then grabbed another to begin on mending, looking first in each of the two pockets. In what would be the right hand side when being worn. She found nothing in that particular shirt's pocket but in the next one after that...he left hand side when worn, she found a locket on a thin golden chain.

At a single look the locket screamed delicate so when she opened it she was extra careful. Inside was picture of a woman and a few children. She remembered those children from the picture in Youri's room. It was one of his roommates locket. 'It had to be,' she came to the conclusion.

Just as she placed the thin chain, sneakily (making sure no one could see) around her neck for safeguarding, a huge banging sound echoed throughout the room and everything around her shook like it has been hit by an earthquake.

Everyone froze in fear, Oceané included.

Then another came, and that is when the screaming started. Instantly.

People rushed around everywhere leaving her alone in the room with a little, cowering boy. The boy Oceané recognized as meeting before. How come she hadn't seen him in the tiny room earlier?

“Ibrahim!” She screamed over the loud sounds of gunfire and incessant rumbling. The little boy looked up at her when she rushed over to him. Crouching down she spoke calmly to him, not knowing how she could even do so in a time like this. Ibrahim had tear filled eyes, but none fell. “ هيا"(Come on.) She held her arms out and he walked timidly into them, allowing for her to lift him up and stumble out of the now once again, shaking room.

He held onto her around her neck, his face buried into her hair as she rushed around trying to find a way out of the building she was seemingly stuck in.

Debris was everywhere, littering the hallways and crashing as parts from the ceiling behind and ahead of them as they continued to move forward. She maneuvered over the crumbled pieces of cement with caution, though still at a quickened pace from fear of being caught in something more's path.

“Aleia” She heard mumbled into her shoulder amongst the sobs escaping the little boy's mouth. For being barely 2 years of age, he was an extremely brave and strong little thing. Even in this situation. He could be balling and squirming around. All he did though was stay still as she carried his body..

"أين هي الصديق؟" (Where is she buddy?) Oceané asked as she crouched down in a doorway, momentarily as a chunk of cement came down in her previous path. All that was on her mind was getting out safely, getting Ibrahim out. In her haste she had actually forgot all about his twin baby sister.

“لا أعرف" (I no know) He looked up into her eyes, tears still in them; none seemed to have fallen still. However just the look on his face could make the hardest ass guy's heart hurt.

“Ibrahim ، أين الماضي رؤيتها؟" (Ibrahim, where were you when you saw her the last time?) He pouted but didn't speak. Deciding not to wait any longer Oceané stood, not being able to risk staying back too long in case. Turning down a different hallway she began running, yelling for the missing baby girl.

One could only hope that Aleia was taken out by someone. Although who honestly knows if she was in the state of chaos that was occurring all around them?

Up ahead was a faint light, seeping in from a small cracked window. She lunged for it as another bang was heard and the place around her began to shake as if it were hit by a major earthquake.

Oceané fell hard towards the debris covered floor, cutting a gash from her ankle to a bit shy of the back of her knee. Hissing in pain she held in the scream she wanted desperately to let out. Despite said pain, she made herself get up, limping, and managed to make the final distance to the door. Grabbing the handle she pulled.

It was locked.