Truth Be Told
Prologue: Mechanism of Breathing
Her eyes were burning; the filthy water flowed around her, invaded and tore away at her vision. Blinking, she struggled to block it out, to let the sweep of her lashes brush aside the dirt and debris, but nothing seemed to help. She had to stay mentally aware of her surroundings and that meant keeping her eyes open no matter what painful torture they were subjected to. At least, that was what the years of her training had amounted too.
She watched her last gulp of air make a quick break for the water's surface, leaving her lungs empty and deflated. She could feel the effects from the lack of oxygenated blood to the small alveoli of her lungs: they were threatening to burst from their membranous cavity if they stayed deoxygenated for a second longer. Her lungs weren't the only internal organs feeling the pressure. Her brain, cut off from its fresh supply of oxygen, barely registered the voices of the men holding her down. They had kept her suffocating under the water for longer than any normal human could possibly hope to handle. This was it; her finale.
No, the curtain would not be drawn to a close so soon for our heroine. Those muscled hands that held her down finally gripped tightly into her shirt and tore her away from the H20 torture device. If she would know the pain and suffering that would soon be brought to her she might have struggled to keep herself asphyxiated to finally end her nightmare, but she would never allow such an easy defeat. With violent gulps of breath, her bronchi were finally relieved to have the air they desperately needed. Oh, the sweet process of inspiration! The victory was short lived, however, as she was thrust to the wet floor below.
"I not repeat myself, woman! Who are you?".
The man spoke in his foreign tongue, obviously not familiar to the English language or grammar spoken by the general population, but he knew clearly well how to threaten and demean her, especially with his use of the word woman.
If he was going to insult her, she would do the same, but only in his native language. She took another deep breath knowing full well what would happen the moment she was defiant to her captors.
"Bu yao sheng qi!" (Quit being mean!) She spat at his feet as the last syllable broke from her trachea.
"Hit her, now!" He commanded, not even taking the time to do it himself.
One of the guards took a confident step towards her and secured his rifle over his shoulder before swiftly kicking straight into her diaphragm.
'Why do they have to make military boots enforced with steal toes?'
She inwardly cursed herself as the force caused an involuntary spasm from her diaphragm, pushing her rib cage up and out. The swinging action of the boot into her stomach caused her to take a deep intake of breath, a reaction one learned more out of habit than reflex. Now her lungs had too much oxygen, and her trachea burned as she choked from her own breath.
'First too little and now too much oxygen,' she thought.
He saw the anger in her eyes at that moment; the glassy, red veined eyes. She was a fighter, but it was futile now. Any minute and his ranking officer would be there to put her at her end.
"Xiang da jia mah?" (Want to fight?)
She had heard him clearly, but she made no attempt at moving. She just kept her turned face flush with the wet ground. The short, quickened breaths she made produced small ripples in the puddles that surrounded her. The act of pushing all that air from her lungs was causing a low, guttural growling noise obviously directed towards him. He paid no attention to her throaty threats, but effortlessly tangled his fingers into her flaming red hair.
The man swiftly jerked her up pulling roughly at her burning scalp, and she was thrust into the waiting chair in the middle of the room. Before she even had the chance to resist, the other waiting guards handcuffed her wrists to each side. Now she was truly at their mercy.
It was the first time they had gotten a good look at her condition. Her wet hair was plastered to her face and pushed back awkwardly on the top of her head, causing it to mat and tangle into large clumps. Darkened eyes glared back at her captors as her thick make-up dripped down her cheeks. She looked a mess but considering what had happened in the past few hoursno, make that daysshe looked quite well pulled together.
Her swollen eyes turned to the only exit; an old, thick, barricaded wooden door with busted framing. It was obviously deteriorating with everything else in the decrepit room. Her thoughts were not about escaping, through, but about the noise on the other side. The others too turned and awaited the newest arrival, but the captive female's bottom lip quivered while her captors' mouths curved into sinister looking smiles of anticipation.
The noise got louder quickly, and the door finally creaked open…
To Be Continued…
Next Chapter: Sometimes the Truth Kills
Authors Note: This is my first story ever. I'm hoping that my efforts and thoughts are well worth all your time. Any beta's out there? Or, anyone willing to take a look at my work before it gets thrown up on the cutting room floor? Please! Oh, please, contact me via. e-mail.
I sat for a week thinking up a story line before taking the time to write this up. I was apprehensive about writing a FFVIII fanfic because I wasn't sure if the fan base was still around, but I can tell that you guys are definitely not in short supply. That and I know I suck at writing!
All reviews are welcome. I'm sorry to say that I am human. I am imperfect. And I make mistakes. Many mistakes! Frequent, simple, elementary grammar mistakes.
I am an East Asian Language student but, there are many phrases and context that I might accidentally get messed up. I'm not fluent, yet. Sorry!
Thanks: I want to take the time to thank Ninie for making me feel like my work was interesting and reading it before it was sent off. Special thanks to my beta-wife Qui-ti, she is the best thing that an authoress could ask for.