I could feel my body on the hard, dirty floor, yet couldn't move. My limbs were vacant and lifeless. The only movement I could make was with my eyes. I was trapped behind those eyes...nothing but heavy, immovable thoughts. I scanned the view. I was in a basement. It was hard. Everything was hard. "Am I a rock?", I pondered. I could slightly make out two heavy boots moving near the wall straight ahead, and I could feel two eyes looking at me; but they did not come from the figure in front of me. I glanced around the room more and saw a door that was open. Inside was a boy with blonde hair who was sitting, slouched up against the corner. He was staring with unblinking, wide eyes straight at me... and I didn't like it. "Stop...", I thought... "Stop it!", but the eyes never moved away...never moved at all. One of those eyes was discolored dreadfully and bulging out of the socket. Nearby there was a loud *clang* and I turned to see that a bag filled with tools had been thrown onto the floor haphazardly near the foot of a wooden peg board table. As the boots stood in front of the table a smell....an unimaginably sickening and pungent smell filled the air. Teardrops formed in the corners of my eyes as my vision drifted up the wall, where I could have sworn I saw a set of keys hanging from a rusty hook. Tears fell from my prison, and inside screams echoed ceaselessly, until I fell backward into empty darkness.
YOU ARE READING
The Mansion
Non-FictionA brief look into the personal inner world of someone diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.
