I still remember the day I first set foot in that hellish place. Its been nearly two weeks since the plane crash that left me marooned here, but what I found was a nightmare; It could barely be called hospital with an entrapped smelled like death and decay, like a rotting corpse left in the sun.

The stench was so unbearable that the staff always carried their handkerchiefs as substitutes for masks, hoping to mask the foul odour. The doctors and nurses didn't seem to care. They wore stained gowns and gloves, covered in blood and pus from their previous patients. From what I saw as I was guided in, they operated on filthy tables, using instruments that were never sterilized.

I saw maggots crawling on the sheets of a man with a broken leg. He didn't seem to mind. He was used to living in filth. He was used to suffering. He was used to dying. I wasn't. I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

I felt like a stranger in a strange land. No one here spoke my language or cared about my plight. They treated the crash site like a treasure trove, scavenging whatever they could find and leaving the rest to rot. They even took the bodies of my friends and buried them in unmarked graves, without letting me say goodbye. And my clothes, my precious clothes, they paraded them around like costumes, mocking me with their laughter.

They had no idea what they had thrown away, the Starlink Antenna that could have connected me to the outside world. It was the only thing that mattered to me, and they tossed it aside like a useless toy.

I was stuck in a hellhole with a broken leg and a useless satellite phone. The only thing that kept me sane was the access to the internet that I had smuggled in. Assad, my bunk mate, had a keen eye for English and knew I needed it badly. He offered to help me out, but only if I paid him well. I gave him some dollars from my hidden stash and let him use the phone, while I logged on to the web.

I tried to call my wife, but she was too distraught to talk. My brother-in-law put me in touch with some contacts who knew the situation here. They told me I was in deep trouble. The country I had landed in was not a random spot on the map. It was a war zone where only the Russians and Chinese dared to go, and none of the parties would have no interest in helping me out.

I was trapped in a hostile territory, surrounded by rebels who wanted me dead. The only hope I had was a phone call I made to the State Department, who managed to contact a group of Brazilian mercenaries in the capital. They agreed to rescue me, but they needed two weeks to prepare. In the meantime, a terrible sand storm was approaching, which would cut off any communication with the outside world. I had to survive on my own, with limited resources and constant danger, for two weeks until they arrived.

Enduring relentless days of scorching heat, the nauseating odour from my wound attracted the attention of flies from the wide open doors. The encounter proved unusual compared to the daytime interactions were the nurses pretended not to understand me. This nurse, shrouded in silence, communicated with a heavy accent, uttering, "1250mg IV Vancomycin with a diagnosis of acute renal failure."

The Night Nurse focused on medicating Assad, Assad signalled for my compliance. As the Night Nurse began he unsettling procedure performed with tools brought from her shambled trolley. Verbal huffs and near screams for help filled the air, but as I damned to know what she was doing, the night nurse pivoted towards me, swiftly piercing my neck with the jagged rusted needle.

Assad's shouted out, "You fool,", as my eyes struggled to adjust to the daylight, he warned, "You should have kept quiet. It now has you."

Confused & silently disoriented, I turned away, attempting to dismiss Assad's ominous words. Yet, the throbbing pain from the needle left a mark, and a deep ache coming from my stomach heightened my fear – I realised A precisely carved-out mark on my body triggered an instinctive and heightened pain response.

“Assad! What’s going on?”, I said.

“You disturbed it, and it has begun to feast on you. We’re both died friend. Pray to your god.”

I screamed at him, the useless nurses, and the curious onlookers who gathered around the ward during my tantrum. Most of them ignored me, and just laughed at the sight of a foreigner struggling with the harsh reality of being here, but the ones who noticed the wound, knew well enough the terror I felt then. I had no clue how I would make it for another week with something stealing my organs while I lay in dirt, and decay. It was unbelievable that this could be happening to someone like me.

FIVE MORE DAYS LEFT:

Even with everything messy and broken, I still had power around midday. I reached out to my wife and brother-in-law, hoping they could rush out the mercenaries. I hesitated to explain what happened since our last talk, but as I began to explain the forced medication, and the behaviour of the staff, they felt powerless. My brother-in-law said the government couldn't help, and I could only hope for mercenaries to come soon.

FOUR MORE DAYS LEFT:

I woke up again, saw a strange scar on my lower back. Assad seemed lucid today, but had a missing eye. When I pointed it out to the nurses, they begun to avoid us, as a kid in the passage watched me and the nurses.

As soon as the nurses had finished dishing out the food for us, and left. I called the young boy over, "Hey, kid, do you know who's in charge here?" I asked. He smiled as he came over, as I was just happy to talk to someone who could understand me, But my mood changed when the kid said, "This isn't a hospital; it's a place for sacrifices." A nurse passing by noticed the boy by my side, as he was dragged away.

THREE MORE DAYS HERE:

The meagre portions of food sludge, a concoction of boiled beef jerky, ignited a spark of hope within me, as I planned to evade an injection. Researching more about the possibility of sacrifice here, I learned about the Tromba Ritual. I learned that the World Health Organization supposedly cleared it out in 1987. However, the possibility of its resurgence now loomed, and I feared for the mysterious lady's life.

As the night nurse arrived again, I placed the hardened sludge around my neck to shield against the impending injection. As she turned her attention to Assad, I summoned all my strength, rising to strike her with the book at my bedside. However, she seemed to disintegrate into dust and I would soon asleep as I felt the familiar sharp point on my neck.

LAST DAY:

Time slipped through my fingers, and I found myself disoriented, unsure of my whereabouts. My phone, long dead, flickered back to life, revealing a missing day, as I also noticed Assad's disappearance, and the increasingly deserted environment. Fumbling through my call logs, I rambled incoherently to my brother-in-law about the incidences.

I didn't know she was listening. She had somehow connected to the call, and I saw her face after so long on the screen. Shocked and horrified by the marks on my skin, she couldn’t handle it, and neither could I at that moment. My brother-ln-law reassured me that the mercs would be coming tomorrow, I can only hope I can survive my last night here, before it’s too late.