Post by Wulfi on Dec 13, 2009 13:14:34 GMT -5
I was on the floor. I was cold, and I couldn't remember, for the life of me, how it had come to this. I felt the steel hugging my wrists and ankles, the chill of the floor, of what may have been death, seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes. I remembered a room with no windows and a single door. I remembered the horrible food they force fed me. I remembered the willingness with which I desired to end this all, but I couldn't. No, they wouldn't let me. They wouldn't let me escape this hell.
Was it finally time for me to go? Laying here, alone, on this chilling concrete floor, the dark blue, charcoal walls coming closer as my vision began to sweep in and out of focus, I felt my chest rise and fall. I was scared, but grateful, for I knew that soon, I would be free. I would be among the light once more.
I don't remember the darkness dancing around me. I didn't remember passing out.
There had been times where I questioned how I had gotten here, but after the days, weeks, years, or whatever span of time had passed (the validity of such titles escapes me) I began to numb, to float, and to become nothing more than a despondent doll. I was there for show, nothing more. I was not dressed in fancy clothes, I was not given pretty powders to endow my facade with, nor was I loved by any particular individual. I was trapped in this room with nothing more than a gray door to burn holes into with a gaze that once held the fire to do so.
What was my name? Did I have an identity? Had I lost it?
They gave me nothing, not a number nor a letter to which I could hold my existence to. They gave me two meals a day, each with little rations, and soon began to put different things in my meals that I had, after the feel of time became nonexistent, hoped would somehow either poison or asphyxiate me. But no, they were certain not to let me die. They were careful with me.
I hadn't lost all sanity. I hadn't gotten to the point of actually bashing my head against the wall. Sitting there would suffice. Sitting gave me time to think. Why was I here? What was the purpose of all of this? Why is someone like me being confined?
In later times I asked myself different questions, follow-ups. Who was I? Who had I been? Was I a normal sort of girl, plain and simple, or had I done something horrible to deserve this punishment? Was I famous? Was this some stalker's idea of a sick game, something he could get a rush off of?
Questions became less frequent, and soon, they stopped completely.
I remember using my tooth to prick my finger, marking the wall with my height, utilizing the tally system to keep track of the days I was in here, though I realized it really didn't matter. I hadn't done so to begin with, so there was little meaning in the effort. I half expected a man to come in and beat me because of my actions, because I had dirtied his wall. I fantasized about it, even. There was nothing else to think about.
I would have drawn pictures, but I was a terrible artist. Such things could only bore, as I currently had no creativity to speak of.
Was it wrong of me to envision things like this? Was pain the only outlet I could turn to, in the realm of my mind? I imagined so many painful things, I did, but perhaps that helped me contain my sanity. If the fear of these acts persisted I would have been driven mad. I had come to terms with the violent images I played over and over in my head, so much so that they disturbed me not. In fact, they amused me a bit. That may have been the point where my sanity fell into question, but at least I wasn't beating my own brains out.
I don't remember the exact day the masked man took me away. Then again, I forgot what day and night felt like. There was no telling from where I was kept.
He put a blindfold on my eyes and carried me to a large room with dark bluish walls. I remember going rigid in his arms. Is this what human contact felt like? It had been so long since I'd even felt anything warm. I felt numb, as if everything was foreign. Everything had a slight pressure but no real sensation. I felt nearly lifeless.
He laid me down on the floor. It felt like ice, like the floor in my room- no, my cell.
I felt him take my stiffened arms and pin them to the ground. Metal, I assumed, cold and harsh, clamped around my bare wrists and ankles. I struggled not. This was a change, something that I was more than prepared for.
He swiped the cloth away from my eyes. That was the last time I ever saw that room.
When I awoke I was ravaged by an abundance of new sensations, or rather, sensations that I had forgotten existed.
The sky is blue. But...
Is this what the world looked like before...?
Was it finally time for me to go? Laying here, alone, on this chilling concrete floor, the dark blue, charcoal walls coming closer as my vision began to sweep in and out of focus, I felt my chest rise and fall. I was scared, but grateful, for I knew that soon, I would be free. I would be among the light once more.
I don't remember the darkness dancing around me. I didn't remember passing out.
C_i_t_i_z_e_n
001
001
There had been times where I questioned how I had gotten here, but after the days, weeks, years, or whatever span of time had passed (the validity of such titles escapes me) I began to numb, to float, and to become nothing more than a despondent doll. I was there for show, nothing more. I was not dressed in fancy clothes, I was not given pretty powders to endow my facade with, nor was I loved by any particular individual. I was trapped in this room with nothing more than a gray door to burn holes into with a gaze that once held the fire to do so.
What was my name? Did I have an identity? Had I lost it?
They gave me nothing, not a number nor a letter to which I could hold my existence to. They gave me two meals a day, each with little rations, and soon began to put different things in my meals that I had, after the feel of time became nonexistent, hoped would somehow either poison or asphyxiate me. But no, they were certain not to let me die. They were careful with me.
I hadn't lost all sanity. I hadn't gotten to the point of actually bashing my head against the wall. Sitting there would suffice. Sitting gave me time to think. Why was I here? What was the purpose of all of this? Why is someone like me being confined?
In later times I asked myself different questions, follow-ups. Who was I? Who had I been? Was I a normal sort of girl, plain and simple, or had I done something horrible to deserve this punishment? Was I famous? Was this some stalker's idea of a sick game, something he could get a rush off of?
Questions became less frequent, and soon, they stopped completely.
I remember using my tooth to prick my finger, marking the wall with my height, utilizing the tally system to keep track of the days I was in here, though I realized it really didn't matter. I hadn't done so to begin with, so there was little meaning in the effort. I half expected a man to come in and beat me because of my actions, because I had dirtied his wall. I fantasized about it, even. There was nothing else to think about.
I would have drawn pictures, but I was a terrible artist. Such things could only bore, as I currently had no creativity to speak of.
Was it wrong of me to envision things like this? Was pain the only outlet I could turn to, in the realm of my mind? I imagined so many painful things, I did, but perhaps that helped me contain my sanity. If the fear of these acts persisted I would have been driven mad. I had come to terms with the violent images I played over and over in my head, so much so that they disturbed me not. In fact, they amused me a bit. That may have been the point where my sanity fell into question, but at least I wasn't beating my own brains out.
I don't remember the exact day the masked man took me away. Then again, I forgot what day and night felt like. There was no telling from where I was kept.
He put a blindfold on my eyes and carried me to a large room with dark bluish walls. I remember going rigid in his arms. Is this what human contact felt like? It had been so long since I'd even felt anything warm. I felt numb, as if everything was foreign. Everything had a slight pressure but no real sensation. I felt nearly lifeless.
He laid me down on the floor. It felt like ice, like the floor in my room- no, my cell.
I felt him take my stiffened arms and pin them to the ground. Metal, I assumed, cold and harsh, clamped around my bare wrists and ankles. I struggled not. This was a change, something that I was more than prepared for.
He swiped the cloth away from my eyes. That was the last time I ever saw that room.
When I awoke I was ravaged by an abundance of new sensations, or rather, sensations that I had forgotten existed.
The sky is blue. But...
Is this what the world looked like before...?