Under Arrest

Chapter 32: Matthew 5:44

       A blurry sight started to materialize as he slowly raised his eyelids, allowing light to enter his eyes. His lips felt dry and cracked. Too weak to move, he found himself lying on the clouds. His eyesight retained its pixilated perception for a while before fully adjusting to his surroundings. Staring straight at the fluorescents gave a burning sensation, for his eyes haven’t seen a different shade from black for quite a long time. A flat screen hung on one of the corners, but it was turned off. Absent windows, the room seemed to be well ventilated, but realizing it was so because there was air conditioning at work. Even blinking seemed to take effort, and his body didn’t obey his wish to get up.

      Like gravity, a force that seemed more powerful than him made him realize that he was tired and closed his eyes shut.

      Awake for the second time, he was frightened to see a man stand beside him, chanting an inaudible speech. He was reminded of sacrificial rituals he’d seen in some movies and feared that he’s in such a thing. Keeping his eyes only halfway open, he pretended to be unconscious, but the man seemed to have sniffed his little game for he threw a quick glance at the hint of his eyelids’ movement.

      Clutched in his hands was a rosary, and he moved from one bead to another as he finished each part of what seemed to be a similar series of passages his grandmother used to pray when she was still amongst the living. In his left hand was a small book, which he figured to be a bible, but he banished the thought for it was too small to fit just the summary of the book they call holy. Must be a simple prayer booklet, he thought. When the man was done, he turned around and headed out of the small room, leaving him to himself.

      He closed his eyes once more.

      Someone was behind a pushcart the third time he woke up from a dream he couldn’t remember what. He tried to flip sideways but he felt as if his ribs were trying to dig out of his flesh on the process. As the person approached him by the side of the bed, the person became a woman. Sitting on what he could make out as a three-legged stool, the woman blew on a white bowl, as if cooling whatever was in it. Too weak to protest, the woman held a spoon near his mouth and fed him like an infant.

      He tasted porridge.

      He didn’t perceive if the woman was aware that it didn’t taste good. She just kept on feeding him. He would admit to being hungry, but his tonsils burned each time food passed down his throat. As if the woman read his mind, she took a glass of water from the tray and placed it between his lips. It’s been ages since water found its way inside his mouth, which made him ask the woman, despite the burning sensation in his throat, a very important question he should’ve known the first time he woke up.

      “Where am I?”

      The ceramic bowl gave off a screech as the woman dropped the metallic spoon inside its now empty space, “Father will be here shortly,” she said as she stood up, “Ask him your questions.”

      Seeing the cross above the door, he was now sure he wasn’t in his room. The woman almost bumped the pushcart onto the same man he saw before, but was able to stop. From the bed, he heard them talk by the door.

…did he…give him some…

…he’s asking whe…

…tell him anythi…be careful…

…es uncle…

…some plates dea…

      “Feeling better?” the man asked as he walked closer.

      A sense of familiarity entered him as he examined the face of the man. He had the appearance that made him think he’d seen him from somewhere before, but the memory was hiding at the backmost part of his brain, almost intangible.