The celebrations of the evening were coming to a close. Carlos wearily made his way home just a few houses down. He could not remember the last time he had so much fun. Time felt like it was finally moving again. A glimmer of happiness from his past existence was still present here.
It was Miguel's birthday and he had just turned 19, however you wouldn't have guessed it. The dark circles hugging the edges of his eyes, the gaunt high cheekbones on his face, the signs of their struggle weren't just mental manifestations. But that didn't matter now as there were more pressing concerns. That of today being Thursday. The day of "The Christening".
Being quite late in the evening, this proved quite strange that the P.L.A. had not shown up yet. Usually it would be an afternoon visitation for a handful of trainees, but nothing so far. Carlos opened the front door lazily and sprawled on the couch. He gazed at the television set, now reduced to a worthless heap of metallic junk. He tuned his mind to the favourite sitcoms of his bygone era and as if by magic, the TV hummed into action and directly to his favourite TV station! Thank goodness for the power of the minds eye, the one thing they can't take away from me, he thought.
In the distant corners of his imagination, he was interrupted by something like a low buzz. In the fog between being half asleep and being half awake, it took a little time to decipher. He bolted upright as if someone had just tugged on the strings of a puppet! A truck, the P.L.A. are here! He had but a split second to gather his senses as he raced to the window for confirmation. An army truck, similar to a pickup, appeared out of the darkness, headlights flickering and shining brightly.
Terror streaked through his body like electricity. He watched concealed behind the curtain as it crept slowly forward until drawing to a halt by the sidewalk a few doors down. Isabella came hurtling down the steps and ran straight to Carlos, almost hysterical. "My god, they are here, look!". He saw the sheer horror in her eyes. "Mama, just wait. Please, calm down." They watched as three members of the P.L.A. stepped out of the vehicle. Two burly, stout men approached their captain from the other side. They both wore the official P.L.A. uniforms and carried military grade M-16's. The army's standard weapon of choice. The captain himself was a tall, slender figure of a man pushing his mid-40's. They all moved in unison toward Miguel's house, guns at the ready. Isabella gasped, but Carlos cupped her mouth gently and shook his head.
A few seconds later, a loud thudding on the door could be heard. Shouts of commands to open up came bellowing through the night air. Carlos could feel a small lump welling up in his throat. His mother sobbed next to him, pelts of tears trickling down his hand. He knew how desperately helpless they were to assist right now. The fleeting moments of joy found just a few hours ago now all but a distant memory.
The three men then silently disappeared into the house. "Mama, listen, you need to keep it together. Miguel is as good as dead. There's no way back for him now. But we are still here, we need to stay strong". He held back the tears as best he could, he was the backbone of this tiny vulnerable family unit. He lifted his mother's chin slowly upward and looked upon her face. She was scared, frightened to her very core. The lines on her face were so prominent, her eyes red and swollen, it was plain to see the stress was taking its toll hard. She was so fragile, a small bundle of flesh and bone. His entire world in one small little package. He hugged her tenderly. "This nightmare will not last, mama. We will get out of this mess, I promise you. You're my life. I'll never leave you, do you trust me?" She looked at him with all the love a mother could possibly muster. "Yes, my son. I just don't want to lose you. I'd rather die than...".
They both turned in quick succession. The three P.L.A. members had just left the house with Miguel blindfolded and gagged. The butt of their weapons used as a prodding instrument to push him along. "Hurry it up now. Let's go." said one of the guards. They convened behind the truck and opened the drapes concealing the rear. Carlos could just make out several heads on either side vaguely in the darkness. Those poor unfortunate bastards. Miguel was led up a small ramp to join the others. He seemed so resigned, not a fight left in him. He obediently followed their prompts as if he were already a seasoned recruit. This person he, only a few short hours ago, was celebrating and singing songs with. What a rollercoaster ride of an acid trip we are all on! The Devils amusement park. Free admission for all.
They both looked around anxiously. Not a sign of life anywhere else on the street. The neighbourhood was in hiding just as we were, praying for them to just leave and be done with it as quickly as possible. Isabella wept in his arms as the P.L.A. members huddled in formation for further discussions. How much longer would this theatre of horror being played out for us last? Seconds seemed like minutes in this alternate reality. Carlos closed his eyed tightly, begging the Lord to hear his prayer and take them away.
Well, someone or something did hear him pray, for when he opened his eyes again, they witnessed the P.L.A. captain pointing a long, bony finger straight at their house...
