Drip…
Drop…
Drip…
Drop…
the sound that haunts my mind, it fills
the inner crevices and never stops with its monotonous and continuous drop. I’m
not sure how I have arrived in this place. It is dark and dreary, no light and
not even a single window to peer out of. It has become harder each and every
day to take comfort in my one inch thick, hard as a rock mattress. I can never
find peace in this place, all I ever hear is the drip and drop, and that harsh
creaking sound that vibrates the room. How have I arrived in such a miserable
situation?
I
should have known better, signing up to work with government couldn’t have ever
been a good idea. I’m sorry Stacy I hope you can forgive me. Lulu and Skip, I
pray every night that you know Daddy misses you. Finally, the bucket has enough
water for my thirst to be quenched. I have come to the realization that every
1,967th drop I can take a sip that lasts approximately 5 seconds. Even
though that irritable drop will tip me over the edge of insanity, sadly it has
become my only lifeline. Come on now, I need to think, what was I doing before
I arrived here? Oh, that’s right I was walking somewhere and I felt a shock of
pain pierce my body, the rest is a blur. That same day my advisor had given me
some sensitive information about terrorist cells and potential raids. I was
supposed to deliver it to someone, which must be why I was walking outside; I
was on my way to meet this person.
Although
things look bleak, I just know that somehow I can get out of this. I have
prayed, I’ve gone to church, I do what is right most of the time, doesn’t that mean that the greater being in the
sky is going to save me? Who cares anymore, this is my own fault. I risked my
life just to get the feeling of heroism when in actuality I am nothing more
than a loser for leaving my family. I need to stop thinking like this, but how,
how can I overcome this lapse of judgment? Throwing a pity party isn’t the
answer, but I have been lying on this mattress for days, I cannot get up for
some reason. I try to stretch my left arm and something tugs on it. Fortunately
the bucket is to the right of me and I can stretch my right arm out every 1,967th
drop and take a sip.
If
my own ability at the moment will not allow me to escape, I must be cunning.
Outsmart the enemy, outsmart the torture, and in the end outsmart myself.
Though the movement has been taken away from me by a mysterious force I can
survive, and I must survive. My family needs me but not as much as I actually
need them. There goes the drop again, why will it never cease? Being abused
would mean far less pain than this solitary drop.
Maybe,
I can tear up my mattress and use the stuffing as a way of lulling this
incessant drop. Maybe, I could hit my capturers with the bucket when they
advance upon me. Maybe, I should have just not been such an oaf, and worked
behind a desk like every other middle-aged man. Maybe, this whole situation
will just disappear as if it had only been a nightmare. Maybe… just maybe.
Who
cares anymore? I am only delaying the inevitable. I will die in this dark
place, alone and with no one to comfort my ever-increasing sorrow. Stop it! I
cannot think like this, but as time continues to tick away my mind wanders
farther down the path of despair. The only way to conquer the lurking pessimist
is think. Think with the brain that the government sought to have on their
side. Rising from my thoughts of my deep despair was drops I could not bare or
accept, a clear, precise, cacophonous melody like the whipping of a percussionist’s
hand on the triangle; it possessed the same irritable nature.
The
drop continues, but in an instance, I start to gasp, as if a valve had been
pulled and I began to deflate. My
eyes bulge out of my head and the veil of darkness is lifted. Where am I?
WAIT… what is happening? I see
Stacy? I don’t understand how could this be? White coats, children, and
monitors none of this makes sense. Words refuse to escape my chapped lips. Why
am I precariously rising? I am above everyone, as if my soul is leaving. I don’t
understand my lungs ache for breath to enter. I’m sorry Stacy.
Beep…
Beep…
Beep…
∧_∧__∧_________
I really enjoyed this, the sense of helplessness and desperation really shines through. I also could really tell what defense mechanism you were portraying -- rationalization? I believe you were writing in the style of Ambrose Bierce? However, I wish you'd go into more detail, like the way it hurt when the sharp pain pierced him. But your introduction, drip, drop, drip, drop and the end with the beep, beep, beep, was really powerful. Overall your idea is really strong, I just wish you elaborated more on certain parts.
ReplyDeleteAww thanks Morgan, and I am super excited you picked out the author I was reflecting!! Yes, he was definitely rationalizing and a tad bit of denial. You know, I was thinking that a little more detail is needed and you just made me realize it really does need some. Thanks so much for the suggestion, now I have some work to do
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