The city was in good shape. I could say that it was around 1,500 years after the war; I didn't think that reading history would help me in this situation.
We were approaching the same place where the torture was happening. I was watching the ground and the pebbles in it; sometimes you need to divert your mind to push forward.
"When we arrive there, you don't need to see the sight of the tortured. You may only throw up after that; you just push the chair till we go far away from it."
I was thinking about this suggestion, and I thought of following it. I didn't want to throw up or have sleepless nights after that.
"Hey Kit, what do you think? If I throw up, would the contents of my stomach be invisible too?"
Kit squeezed his face in displeasure, I guess visualizing it.
"Gross! Erebus, don't ask silly and disgusting questions.
Kit thought for a while.
" Maybe it too would be invisible."
I pushed the wheelchair to the sight of this inhuman activity. The screams... oh, the screams. It was like a vulture's cry for help, its feathers being torn apart, its beak being destroyed, its soul being crushed. And when the vulture finally asks why? the torturer says, "You are not beautiful like the other birds."
Kit had shifted his face to the sight. I couldn't do it myself; as I saw his facial expressions, I knew I didn't want to see what was happening.
I rolled the wheelchair fast—as fast as possible. In a few minutes, we were far from the scene. The screams could still be heard from here, but at least we didn't have the option to see.
People have a very high tendency to look at things that are not normal—animal fights, human fights, torture scenes. It doesn't mean they are bad people for that; the brain hates cruel things, at least most people's do, but the eyes, they love it.
In the very next minute, I was kneeling on the ground, helping someone who had told me that I would puke after the atrocities of the scene. Kit started to puke as soon as we were far from the wooden torture platform.
"Wow, Kit! Look how I got scared of the torturer's big, ugly face, and now I am puking on the ground. And you, on the other hand, are helping me. You are such a brave and thoughtful friend!"
Kit coughed out the last remaining contents of his stomach and sat there"
I placed this remark in a very sarcastic tone.
"Thank you for your compliments. I always tend to do things that would be beneficial for my friends!"
This guy. I again slammed my hand on my forehead.
"That's called sarcasm! I am not actually complimenting you!"
He stared at me for some time, as if thinking about the mysteries of language.
"Erebus, you really are just inventing words now. I know you are scared, but don't worry, I am here with you. If you have any problems with language, I am here for you."
I couldn't believe it, but somehow I had to. Whether he was serious or just screwing with me, he was the only one I had right now.
"What did you see there?"
He moved his head a little, shifting from looking in my direction to the road forward.
"Things that no person should ever see, I guess. You are a rather tough boy—don't mistake me, you are a crybaby, but the things that you saw just now aren't for kids your age."
"You are only two years older than me. How can you say that when you saw it all?"
"Erebus, we had totally different lives before. The orphanage you were raised in is so loving that... I may have only known the meaning of love after I came here. The Mussel Den, the place where I came from—there we are no more than rats. Killing and stealing is a daily ritual, like buying groceries. So I don't get fazed by these things that easily."
Kit wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"That torture, though—that was too much!"
I understood what he was saying. It's not like I am totally insensitive to these things; I didn't even want to come here, I was scared. But I could see what he meant: for a 14-year-old, to even understand the concept of torture is horrifying.
In my so many years of reading history, I was very instantly introduced to the concept of torture and killing. Kings used it, the military used it; it is horrifying, to say the least. But while reading, I understood that if you think of these things emotionally, you would go mad with anger, sadness, and guilt. But if you see these things as processes used by the evil or inhuman, you could at least read a few more pages.
Knowing about it and seeing it in person are two totally different things, though.
We slowly approached the other side of the city. I wanted to get out of this city so bad; I had thought about getting out of this nightmare so many times, but nightmares never end when you want them to end.
Kit hadn't spoken a word after his last statement. What was he thinking? I guess he also had some deep thoughts after the things we witnessed.
"Erebus, we should have checked if anyone could see the puke or not."
What did I even expect? Ladies and gentlemen, this is Kit for you, not caring about a damn thing.
Still, we really should have checked the puke; it might be useful information.
As we were getting out of the town, the walls of the houses or even palaces were becoming higher and higher. The outer ends of the city were owned by rich people.
I didn't have any interest in their high walls or beautiful palaces, but I couldn't help noticing things. I hate my eyes.
As we neared the end of the city, the slaves—or I may assume, Arcanson's slaves—were increasing in quantity more and more. They were locked in cages outside the palaces or chained like animals to rocky poles.
"I really hate this period!"