Rescue Scene - 2nd draft (1st-person)

Now that I'm here, staring at the gigantic airbase,
the enormous prison that holds my brother and others like him...

Now that I'm here to do what I need to do...

I realize I'm afraid.
No, I'm terrified.
It's cold and I'm sweating.
My entire body is trembling.

Rescue Scene - Part 1, First Draft

In between two rocks on the side of a cliff, he could see it.

The prison looked like an impregnable fortress.
High walls like sheer sides of a mountain,
multiple rolls of barbwire on top.

Flood lights made the prison's inner and outer perimeters
look as if they were powdered with snow.
Who needs the sun?
Guard towers at every corner complete the message:
No escape, no rescue.
Only pain and death await those who try.

"Oh, but I will try," <hero> said softly to himself,
trembling as he did so.
It was very cold, but he could feel the sweat trickling down his back.

"For you have my flesh and blood. And I will not abandon him, even if it kills me."
These words he said to generate courage.
Didn't work. Despite all he'd been through,
the fear was still there. Stronger than ever.

His mind kept replaying
all the possible scenarios.
Death is one of them, less fearsome than others.

Torture. Physical and mental.
Losing his freedom,
his strength,
his mind.


To wither away for countless years,

alone in a concrete coffin,
denied the sweet release of death.

He could see himself.
An old man in a corner,
blind and barely coherent,
filthy and naked,
his rail thin body displaying countless scars from the years of torture.
And everyday he eagerly awaits the small piece of bread
that comes through the tiny slot that opens once a day.
He is grateful for it.
Whenever he gets just a little bit extra,
he shouts praises for his captors,
words that only he can understand,
sincere in his gratitude.

This kept making his fear grow even greater.
But another type of fear had emerged. And it is this fear that drives him.
The fear that his brother would be turned into that old man.
No. Never. Not while he still draws breath.

"I'm coming, brother. Wait for me."

Chapter 1 - Taken

They took him in the middle of the night.
Military men. American, the others said.
They arrived suddenly in their vehicles,
and before anyone could react, began knocking down the doors,
and dragging the males out, shouting in their language.
There were a few Afghans amongst them,
the ones who conveyed their orders to the people,
not that much translation was needed when a gun is pointed at you and your family,
and you are violently dragged from the comfort of your bed out of your house.

Protests were met with fists and boots.
And guns of course.
Such brave men beating the children and women.

They lined the males up.
My brother, my friends, some as young as 12.
Didn't seem to matter to them.

With their hands bound,
and hoods over their heads,
they are loaded into a truck and after a few minutes,
they're gone.
As if nothing ever happened.

We have all heard the stories from other villagers.
Sometimes you get a reason. The reasons always change.
Nobody really knows for sure.
There are no trials.

Most of those taken are rarely ever seen again.

The police can't help. Won't help.

It's as if a storm has come and scooped them all up,
and we are supposed to just forget about them and move on.

I will not.
I will find my brother wherever he is. And I will free him.