Jemila (a flash fiction)

 She hid behind the opened door of Room-016, huddled to her knees, shuddering like a drenched little animal but simultaneously  breaking sweat like a skewered meat on top of a smoldering coal. She tried hard to muffle her cry, yet her sniffle was audible.

“Jemi!...Jemi!...Jemila!”, Madam Comfort’s voice thundered through the passage in a familiar tone to her, of fury, and sweeping towards Room-016 like hurricane .

Her fright continuously moved from ceiling to ceiling behind the door, admitting now it was too late to answer her madam’s call, also, there was a serious consequence for her insubordination. She was done for.

Suddenly, Madam Comfort surged into the room and intuitionally yanked the door to reveal her as she cowered behind it. She pulled her up like a little object by her hair and violently dragged her to the centre of the room. Then she pulled her up to her feet and sent a powerful slap into her face. The little girl flew like shrapnel against the wall and ricocheted into the floor, splayed and utterly senseless. 

As she slowly regained her senses and tried get up, she heard her saying:

“You little tramp has been hiding here the whole time I was screaming your name?!”

  She began to sob as she wobbled up, “I’m sorry Ma’am, I’m not feeling well today, my tummy aches and my head”.

“Shut up little bitch! Why did I keep feeding you when you keep the clients waiting all the time? Enough of this rubbish, move right now!”

“But I’m only 12, I’m just a child”

Madam Comfort’s anger hit its height. Instantly, she took another hard swipe at Jemila’s face, torpedoing her into the floor. Unbelievably, the girl hurried up this time, seemingly unperturbed, now like an obedient soldier ready to tàke his order.

“Room 006!”, she ordered, with a pointed finger at the door way. She nodded and obediently hurried with sharp strides out  of the room towards the dreaded ROOM 006 and with her head sagged to her chest.

The big fat woman then began to make her way back to her office, to count her money. She operated a very discreet brothel on the outskirt of the town, close to the border. She has a clientele of paedophiles to whom she prostitute minors. All the minors were victims of child trafficking or kidnapping.

Jemila got into the room and sat up on the edge of the bed, still sagging her head. She placed her palms on her lean laps, and closed her eyes. She silently fretted and wished that the client was more gentle than the familiar dogs that had previously penetrated her.

She heard the door open with a creaking and immediately she heard the client's feet on the floor, approaching. Something clogged her throat, it could be her heart trying to come out through her mouth. Her heart pulsated rapidly. She kept her eyes closed in terror.

“Baby?” 

The sound of the voice was so familiar to her, apparently, not a client’s voice. With the rush of adrenalin, she opened her eyes.

“Father!”

The larky man just stood transfixed for the moment as she scurried into his arms. Then she began weep profusely in his embrace, her father reciprocated. They had been separated for about six months now after she and two other pupils were abducted on their way home from school. 

The police had claimed to be investigating, but they hadn’t lived up to it. Jemila's father and the parents of the other abducted pupils had begun their own investigation and it had been led them here, a brothel, three states south from home. 

“I knew you would find me…”

“I never stopped searching, my dear, I and the other fathers. Your mother cried every day since we lost you and  I’d promised I wouldn’t return this time without you”

Their faces glistened with sheen of tears. Suddenly, he broke off the embrace.

“It’s time to call in the cavalry; it’s time, my dear. People are waiting outside"

He produced his phone and began to place the call.