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The Dark Side of Individualism
I walked into a dark, vomit stained polyester plastered room, with material-
covered- buttons that held in pillows against the wall. They did a pretty good job of
wiping off the blood and urine that leaked through. The smell of ammonia made my nose
burn and crunch up. My hands were pinned at my side and my feet were tied. They
pushed me in ever so slightly, and I fell, due to the bound of knots around my ankles. It
was musty, and hard to breathe, it almost felt like I was inhaling sheets of glass. The day I
was caged; I will never forget.
I sit to the point where my rear aches and forces me to stand up. I walk around,
with my head down. Go into a corner and rest my head on a clear spot I searched so hard
for, on the small walls. I roll my eyes so far back in my head, I get headaches, and can
hear the sound of my eyes not letting them go any further. I press my face against the
what used to be soft but is now just faded wall, and consider suffocating myself. Too bad
the walls are too smooth, and my breath would spill out.
Thunder outside these walls, that cover murderous screams, let me know there’s
still a world outside. I would like to think that I am not where they say I am. No, they
always told me I am not crazy, but then again, as I look back now, nobody ever knew me. What I must endure, everyday, is unimaginable…
Night after night, she appears on my walls, while sounding her calls. Her nails digging hard into me, and as I tell myself it’s a dream, I’m in disbelief, when I catch my vital fluids trickling down on my hands. She’s not there. I wont believe it, and when I have to scream it to convince myself, she lifts me to the ceiling and drops me. She’s singing to me now, but not in a pretty, melodic kind of way, instead a siren that brings me into a tight ball and I am swinging back and forth pressing my hands against my ears. Praying, praying, praying, for her to stop. She does and then laughs in a sort of pathetic way. I cry.
Its hard to sleep with him saying that your worthless, and unloved. He has a strong and rough voice, that is so intimidating that I believe him. He kills me with his words. He never shows his face, but lines the floor which leaves me climbing the walls. I gain so much fear it blinds me and I stand in the middle of the blank room. Hot breath is running across my back and my tiny hairs stand up. He is whispering something to me, but in a language, I have never heard, but somehow I understand. I stood aghast and screamed until blood flew from my mouth. I get a bang on the door which brings me back to reality.
There’s some thing in the corner and when I adjust my eyes to the lighting, I notice it is a small child. I do not know the sex of the child but realize that it has burn marks on its back and soars on the face. I reach out and seem so far away and when it turns its head, it snaps and bites my finger. I back away furiously and it crawls toward me. Its biting my legs and anything that it can get its teeth into. It rips and snags my robe. My robe is completely hole-free and is snug on my cold body.
I am too overwhelmed with fear, chilling sweat runs down my back and saliva is dripping down the corners of my mouth. My eyes are itchy, and I would pick at them if I thought it would make me not see these things. But its every time I close my eyes; they come alive. My chest is tight and I begin to choke on nothing and cant breathe. My head is wrapped in memories of jealousy and regret. My hands are turning a bluish purple and my feet have been numb for some time now. I’m gasping for air, and its good thing no one can hear me, because I’ve wanted to die for a long time.
My cell is crowded, and loud. I’m watching the fearless people walking around, and I envy them. I look down and realize, I am dressed in my finest attire, I hear the piano playing. Its beautiful, and it draws me in. Nobody is looking at me with strange and deranged feelings. In the middle of this masquerade, I am too discouraged to talk to someone. I feel nothing and all my inside feelings that showed so good; are now gone. All the pretty people. I never did decide whether they were dead or not.