Treasure Hunt

It looked like the bowels of some machine; there were broken pipes and rusty tanks everywhere. The air smelt metallic, but I vaguely remembered that the taste in my mouth was actually blood. They chained me to the ceiling so that every time I returned to consciousness the very first thing I felt was the searing pain in my armpits. It was as if they were slowly tearing off my arms muscle by muscle.

Two of them took turns to interrogate me. One always entered empty-handed, he enjoyed choosing different weapons from around the room to play with my fear. The other always entered with his AK47. At the end of each session, he would stick the nozzle in my mouth as if to say, ‘You’ll be getting this next time!’ Although their techniques were different, they both asked the same question over and over again.

‘Where is treasure?’

The absurdity of such a question made me chuckle a few times, to my regret. ‘This is a god-damn war,’ I reminded them, ‘not a bleeding treasure hunt!’ They wouldn't take this for an answer and returned hour after hour to ask me the same question.

A life-time seemed to pass before the door opened again. This time a different man entered the darkness. He crawled over noiselessly and flicked on a lighter. Most of my battalion had been blown to pieces right in front of my eyes so, when I saw the familiar face of our sniper looking up at me, the moment was a precious one. ‘Trasher, is it really you?’ I sobbed, and instantly understood what my enemies had been looking for.


WORD COUNT: 274