Oct. 27th, 2008

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When Tanya woke up, she discovered herself to be laying on a metal floor, blindfolded and handcuffed, feeling the movement of what must have been a truck... or an APC. The air was hot and heavy with the scent of dust and diesel; somewhere very near, a few people were talking in Russian.

Moving head to listen better was rewarded with a hard kick to the stomach and a stream of profanities: her captors seem to have a grudge against her, so the woman laid still and quiet. It did not prevent them from nudging and prodding her with boots and the stocks of their guns, making sure she could not relax. Royal treatment, it seemed.

After what seemed like an hour, Tanya felt the vehicle slow down, then speed up again: probably going past a checkpoint. The same thing repeated itself three more times, before another long stretch of travel, then movement ceased. Another hard kick, and then she was hauled up and dragged out.

Open air... then a door was opened and she was taken inside a building: long hallways, more doors, two flights of stairs down, hallway, doors. Tanya was roughly sat down on a chair, her handcuffs secured behind it, long moments of silence ticking by until someone pulled off the blindfold.

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Tanya Adams

July 2012

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