All Chapters of I Am Mustafin: Chapter 1 - Chapter 5

My name is Alaki Bea Miller—or in the world above: Alaki Bea X.That is what us, the inferior, are referred to: X.You think you understand until you’re living it. You don’t get just how little they think of you until you’re kneeling before them, beaten and battered.The cold, unforgiving marble of the courtroom floor bites into my knees, sending shivers up my spine. The harsh fluorescent lights beat down on me, making me feel exposed, vulnerable. Five pairs of eyes bore into me from above, each set belonging to a Ringleader—the masters of our fractured world.The air in the courtroom is stifling, thick with tension and the cloying scent of expensive cologne—a luxury reserved for the elite. My throat is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow my fear. The taste of copper lingers—remnants of the beating I endured before being dragged here.After the third war, the governments collapsed. Countries occupied by millions of human beings were bombed, destroyed, l

I stand frozen, staring at the eyes of the man in the blue suit, waiting for the alarm to be raised, for rough hands to grab me. But instead, the man nods his head to the side, silently telling me to go.Oh, my God…Something I can’t quite name washes over me—relief? fear?—but I don’t dwell on it. I can’t. My legs move of their own accord, carrying me past the man. I grab Marcus’ arm, probably too tightly, and all but drag him out of the store.We don’t slow down, our footsteps echoing on the sidewalk as we hurry away. The streets blur around us, my focus narrowed to the path ahead and the need to put as much distance as possible between us and the store.It isn’t until we’ve walked several blocks that I allow myself to slow down. Beside me, Marcus exhales heavily, the sound ragged with relief and lingering fear.My mind races, replaying the encounter over and over.Maybe he didn’t see me?…No, he saw me. I looked right into his eyes. He saw me…I glance at Marcus, noting the anxiety

My tongue feels like sandpaper, my muscles aching with the burning of my dry skin. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sickly glow on everything, making the white walls of my cell seem to close in on me.Time has become a blur. I don’t remember when was the last time I had a drop of water, my lips dry and cracked. The soldier who came to question me and beat me really wasn’t joking when he told me to drink out of the toilet—there is no sink.I refused to do it.Who knows how many desperate souls have been in here before me, or when the toilet was last cleaned? Its silver rim still gleams mockingly, but looks can be deceiving.I’ve been monitoring my wounds, but they don’t seem to be getting better, no doubt a result of malnourishment and dehydration. I’m not sure how much longer it’ll be until I’m taken to court and I’m also unsure of how much longer I can go without water.One thing I’m sure of: I do not want to die here.I lean my back against the wall, my eyes fixed on my