Saturday, May 2, 2009

Trapped in a Torture Chamber Part II

Dreamless sleep is nice. If only I could stay asleep forever. At least the black void of sleep is better than this self awareness. Yes, someone is definitely crying. Her sobbing woke me up. I hate this. The suffocating nothingness is attrocious. But I can't sleep anymore.

Knocking? Where am I? That lady is trying to compose herself. I can hear her footsteps on the floor. It's made of linoleum or something of the sort. Hmm, the door sounds farther away from my feet than I thought. At least, from where I think my feet are. Hell, for all I know, my body has been chopped to bits. It's not like I can see it and know if that's a lie.

"Ma'am, I need to check his vitals."

Who is that? I don't know her voice. Am I in a hospital? I must be.

"Yes, yes, that's fine."

Shit, it's my mom. I must look really bad if she's been crying that hard. Where's dad? He should be holding her, reasusuring her that I'm fine.

"Everything appears the same, ma'am."

"I want to speak to the doctor."

That was surprisingly harsh. Mom is never rude to people.

"I can get the doctor, but he will tell you the same thing. His condition hasn't changed."

"I want to speak TO THE DOCTOR."

Jeez, scary! Mom never uses her "mom voice" on anyone. Accept me. Haha, I'd love to see the look on that nurse's face right now. Mom can be scary when she wants to, but usually not in public. How bad am I?

"Alright, I'll get the doctor."

"Thank you."

Do I even want to know what's wrong with me? But the better question is, where's dad? He wouldn't just leave her. Is he at work? No, he couldn't be. If I'm bad enough for mom to be acting the way she is, then dad would miss to be here. So where is he?

I hat this, being trapped in my head with nothing but sound to keep me company. But how would she know I'm okay? I can't speak, can't move, can't feel. Just hear. It's like a new form of torture made to make me lose my mind.

Ha! What an interesting thought, losing my mind. Trapped here with myself and whatever I become. It could be the third World War ragging in my head and no one would know. I'd be stuck on this bed, or whatever I'm laying on, just as still as always. Torture.

Gah! My poor mom! If only I could tell her I'm fine. But how do you communicate when all you can do is hear? That's all there is to comfort me - the suffocating black abyss of my mind and sounds from a world that doesn't even know I'm here.

I wish I could do more. Or even have somoeone act as if I was still here. Even if I can't react, it would make it easier. I wouldn't feel as if I was locked inside this wourld of my design. I mean, really. There's nothing here but me. I am held captive in a world that is moving on without me. I can't do anything.

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