“What did I do to deserve this?” Eraa screamed, his eyes overflowing with tears. Poor Eraa. Yesterday, the happiest 17 year-old in the world; today, an orphan, without a place to go. Yesterday, a rising student; today a branded terrorist.

I looked helplessly at the writhing figure in front of me. What could I do? I was a mere volunteer. Though for whom, I wasn’t yet so sure. It is The Empire’s new program, to ‘educate’ the young Americana citizens on how amazingly They’re handling everything in the Middle East also known as the best brainwashing technique known to mankind. There are seven of us, new-age teens, the “chosen ones” sent across the seas. Our assignments are simple enough; it ’s the ideas behind them that seem complicated. We hang around the camp each day, take videos and write journals about the things we see. They selectively choose some of these to publish as the “true life entries from our teen ambassadors.” For records sake, none of mine has been published yet, nor will they ever be. Our supervisor, the second highest military officer in the royal forces, has warned me twice already to write things that suited Them and to take videos that only justified Their side. Of course, he didn’t quite put it that way. After all, we are necessary for Them to rope in more people to this place. We’re not allowed to interfere. Not even allowed to talk to the prisoners. But we can observe them. Silently. And write the so-called truth. Scientists and explorers, armed with blindfolds on our eyes.

Eraa was brought in yesterday. His house was burned. His parents… well, they supposedly never existed. Their names were erased from government records, their birth certificates were destroyed and even their neighbors had been forced to forget about them. They made his parents just another figment of his imagination. And if his parents don’t exist, well, he just can’t exist either. After all, a seventeen year-old can’t come out of nowhere. They briefed us on him too, told us the ‘truth’ so that we would know what to write about this dangerous criminal. They said he was born somewhere in the old country of Afghanistan and was brought through a network of terrorists in the Arab world into what-was-once Palestine. He was the result, they said, of Anti-semitic forces that have claimed the territory even after Hamas was destroyed. Even after The Empire took control of most of the world. This new organization, They had said, is a neo-Nazi, neo-Hamas, neo-antiempire, neo-anyotherevilword. It is an evil that had to be suppressed. And Eraa, one of its chief operators. But… it’s hard to believe that this crying boy in front of me is capable of the things They said. A dangerous terrorist. They had told us to keep away from him. But, I wanted to talk.

He was still sobbing, his head pushed into the folds of his arms. I reached out. Perhaps just the feel of a sympathetic human hand would be comforting. He slowly raised his head, trying to see who I was and what poison I was bringing. He stopped screaming though his mouth was wide open. Perhaps he realized that we both had one thing in common. Tears in our eyes.

“What do you want?” he stuttered out, failing miserably to sound tough. I shook my head. What do I tell him? What can I tell him? I knelt beside him silently. I could hear the clock ringing from the main hall. It was 5 O’clock. In a few minutes, the officers would come in for their inspection rounds and if they see me here… well, it was my third time. They might just dismiss me. I looked at Eraa again. No, I need to be here; I need to help him. I have a reason to be here. I quickly ran my fingers through his hair and ran out. The darkened hallways covered my burning eyes and I ran and ran and ran.

“Anjali! Are you okay?” Tina asked, rushing over to my huddling figure, collapsing on the bed.

“Why is everything like this?” I screamed through my tears. I couldn’t stand this. This hatred. This injustice. This lack of humanity. What had happened to the world? Who had traded its brilliant colors for a pitch blackness? Why had moved it away from any sort of compassion? I was speechless. They had predicted that the world would end fifteen years ago, in 2012, but The Empire had stopped that too. I had celebrated too when I first learned about that, as everyone did. But now.. now, I wish the world did end. At least then, humanity could have ended with a semi-clear conscience. Now, it’s stained a deep, deep red by the blood of millions.

“Stop worrying so much. Everything has a way of correcting itself,” Tina tried again.

“But when? It has been years since the Beginning. Since The Empire took over this whole part of the world. And nothing’s changed. Murders, rapes, torture; all allowed, and perhaps even encouraged, for the greater good of the Americana citizens. At least the population ecologists can remain quiet, after all, They have succeeded in stumping the exponential population growth!” I went on sarcastically. Even Tina, the ever-optimistic Tina, remained silent. Little did I know that it was her silence that would pay for my words. She, who would end up paying for my thoughts. What here is ever fair?

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Okay. So I don’t know what this is for. Or why I started writing it. I just started one fine day (when I was supposed to be writing my English essay). So I guess I will finish it bit by bit and hopefully, get some sort of product out of it. Comment if you liked it. I am not sure where it’s quite headed. (and some suggestions for a title for the whole thing would be nice too.)