When The Mind Speaks

Year 2000

Soaked in silence and peace. Only the gusts of cold wind could be heard around in conjunction with the whistling of crickets in the middle of the night. Sharp and successive; a sound that created distinct and vivid patterns on each tree surrounding the paved road of the city. The sky has neither hint nor shade of wrath which is overshadowed by the calm breeze of the featureless night. For it was tranquil, there are no hysterical lights or the faintest sign of electricity on the road. Thus, supplementing the difficulty for anyone to advance because of the thick fog that lurks in the area. It was completely cold, but there was no sign of approaching rain.

The thick fog and silence of the road were suddenly broken when a young man came out rushing in the middle of it. The sweat coursed like a fountain from his forehead to his neck, hands, legs—his whole body—it was sweating profusely. He quickly probed around with the weakest hope of finding another road he could take. To his disappointment, only this road could be seen in the picture. Then, concern, anger, and fear were painted on his face. Heavily breathing, he stroked his chest, supporting himself to breathe regularly.

He widened his gaze, seeing no other road he could run on; he cursed on himself and went straight on rushing without sufficient knowledge of what place he was treading.

An inkling of extreme nervousness could be heard from his moan every time he trips because of running barefoot. He couldn’t see the road much as well. Following what his eyes could reach should be a good idea. There seemed to be no certainty with each vulnerable step. Though trembling, the desire to survive intensified which could be seen from his almond eyes; the determination of finding a safe place to hide.

Without decidedly giving attention to the prostration his body felt from the three persistent hours he had been sprinting, he still kept running until his knees toppled on the ground. He no longer knew where he was, but he didn’t care. The insistent need for a place to hide is what he’s concerned about. He wanted to put his mind and body to safety.

With the drop of his knees that caused a long wound on his leg, he forced himself to catch his breath. He struggled to crawl to the side of the road, next to the tall trees, to lean back and rest for a while. He checked the wound straight away and seeing that it was displeasingly outspread enough—perhaps the most extensive he ever had—he knew it would slow him down. The jabbing pain from the wound had finally penetrated his numbing leg. It was like an electric shock, pounding from nerve to nerve up to the facial tissues that he had to gently bite his lips. It was sore, inflamed, but he knew he had to keep running.

His knees were trembling violently, his vision changing from exhaustion, his eyes felt watery as he gasped for a hefty breath, and securely hugged himself from the coolness of the night in anticipation to grip warmth. He had no such ironclad plan; what he had is dependence and trust on his legs to run—to escape. I need to escape. It’s what he said to himself with dubious will power. He couldn’t help it. It was as if his body was explosively demanding to pause and contradictorily having the sense of survival instinct.

He rested for a few minutes to regain his strength, not letting himself fall asleep despite the extreme fatigue for he knew it would be his end if they found him.

Few minutes have passed, he tried to stand up straight again. It immediately gave up as soon as he stood his legs on the ground. It seemed to have weakened due to the fatigue and discomfort. He clung to the tree he was leaning on for support, slowly lifted himself, and forced himself to stand.

He was just about to step forward when he heard a familiar sound of a machine—a vehicle—that stopped and made him felt disturbed. Its accelerating engine could be heard from afar. His face lost its color for a moment like a wet painting being flushed away by water, his chest throbbed with fear, and he collapsed for the nth time because of the trembling of his knees. With the loss of his remaining hope, tears rolled down his face unstoppably. It was fear that veiled him this time. The feeling of disdain, discomfort, perplexity, anger, and hopelessness were all being mixed up he couldn’t decide what feeling arises above all.

He closed his eyes in despair. He already could see from afar the winding light of the flashlight looking for him on every corner of the road. He couldn’t add to his options—as if there were a lot—of running in the deep of the woods adjacent to the road because it was likewise dangerous. At this point, he could not see any hope.

His sigh grew heavier as he felt the white van little by little approached his hiding place. He closed his eyes, defeated. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Upon opening his eyes, he was dazzled by the light coming from the white van. The light shone on his face that let his eyes went visible with the trace of despair, his nose that had a long horizontal scar, his bruised cheek, and his dry lips. The van stopped in front of the tree he was leaning on, five men came out, and there he told himself it was hopeless.

An instant before the men did their intentions, he was already thinking of nothing anymore. It was as if suddenly blank and empty. It felt like the end. It was the end. Perhaps he was thinking that he was only eighteen years old, too young to die. And the fact that these kidnappers were following him around since morning made him feel blank at all. He knew nothing until one of the men aggressively hit him directly on the head using a thick staff that stopped him from crying. With all speed, he felt dizzy. That dizziness grew from another whip of the staff eliciting laughter from the other men. His body collapsed. He trembled like a worm on the ground from the man’s blow. His body was twitching in pain; it felt like a thousand pins and needles were plugged one-by-one on his body. He softly moaned from one strike, and then it grew to a forceful scream from the continuous attack. At the last moment, before he fainted, he forced his eyes open. A man wearing a barangay officer’s vest was beating him while men wearing police uniforms were laughing at the back near the van. Another strike; there, he lost his sight along with his consciousness, enveloped by darkness.