LOST INNOCENCE PART ONE 'THE ACCUSED'
ONE
I WAS lazing on the golden sands on the south-west coast of Thailand, the blazing sun beating down on my body. The view as I gazed out over the vast expanse of the Andaman Sea was breath-taking. The subtle, salty scent of the ocean engrossed me; the serenity of the still blue waters only broken by the sound of the waves lapping against the rocks.
I reached for my bag, searched for my book and was about to begin the latest Conrad Jones crime- thriller, when my eyes met those of a struggling hawker. She was well covered up and wore an old, straw hat over a tired, bronzed face.
A sharp pang of sympathy rattled inside of me. I didn't have the heart to wave her away and found myself pointing to some fruit that I didn't really want. I dug deep for some change, paid and smiled as she handed me some sliced melon in a bag with a pointed stick. She thanked me, gathered up her wares then strolled off on her way down the beach.
I returned to my book and was surfing through the pages when it suddenly felt hot. Can we turn it down to tropical? A bead of sweat rolled down my nose, stopped then dropped onto a page. I wiped it away, squinted up at the sun and strained my eyes. A rank stench in the air then aroused my attention and looking around I couldn't tell what that was or where it was coming from.
My parched throat and desert-dried lips cried out for water. I scrambled in the sand for my bottle, but couldn't find it. I stretched down for my things - my bag was gone and so were the melon and my book. I lay back for a moment when the back of my head brushed up against somebody's feet. I turned to apologize, but couldn't be more shocked; the beach was now packed. So many dirty, stinky, bodies, lying crammed together within so little space.
I covered my ears as a cacophony erupted in a language I didn't understand. Then the stench struck again. It was stronger than before and this time I recognized it. It smelt like human waste mixed with stale sweat, repulsive body odour and cheap cigarettes. I glanced around to see who was smoking; everybody was.
Something smooth and oily ran under my right hand. It felt like a cockroach, it was a cockroach. I shuffled back and watched it scuttling off. I thought it was gone, but then another appeared and then more. I brushed them away and what was once golden sand was now a dark, hard, filthy floor. My body started to tremble - my nerves were on edge.
I glanced up at the sky but all I could see now, was thick black smoke. I coughed uncontrollably until the smog finally cleared and several stained panels emerged with flickering strip lights. It was as if the sky had transformed into a ceiling of a filthy, neglected cell, crammed completely to capacity.
Trauma and terror possessed me as I realized I had to face this reality and deal with the torment all over again. My mind had been playing tricks on me, creating a mirage of a beach, a mirage of freedom. I was in the worst-place-in-the-world. I was in a Thai prison. I was in Hell.
Horrid memories of this living nightmare began to resurface; that first day when the cell door swung closed; the complete helplessness of being locked up. I couldn't have been more terrified as three heavily tattooed guards with shaved heads and beer-breath had taken a hold of me, dragged me outside, held me firm and stripped me. I hadn't struggled. I'd just stood there naked; the fear of being raped had restricted any movement. I was bent over by two guards while the third parted my butt-cheeks, reached in and shoved his latex covered finger up as far as he could. I jerked forward, stifling my screams as somebody squeezed my balls, hard - it hurt. They had supposedly been checking for drugs but more likely just enjoying the sadistic infliction of pain.
A coughing fit brought me back to the present and I glanced up to see a thick blanket of smoke circling above me. Prisoners were smoking then dropping their smouldering butts between the cracks in the floor. They lay, still burning below me, smoke drifting up as I feared burning alive or suffocating from smoke. My throat felt sore and my pounding heart continued beating through every inch of my being. I needed water. I needed to get out.
I was the only foreigner or farang as we were known here and although we were packed in so tightly, I had never felt so alone. The heat was so oppressive and the stench was so rank, that I almost threw up - twice. A creaking noise distracted me and glancing up I saw a worn-out ceiling fan wobble as it spun round. It was hanging on by two rusty screws and looked like it could fall at any time. My sweat- dampened clothes clung to my body and the pain of lying on such a hard, wooden floor was horrendous. It was thick with dirt, covered in blood stains and other stains I couldn't identify and didn't dare to try.