The Difference Between Fear and Terror

Pure Fear

Seconds or minutes. Hours or days. Weeks or months. Maybe even years? I don't know how long it has been. Maybe I've always been here and all my memories are hallucinations. I think I was torn out of my life. I think I had a family of sorts. Nine boys. Are they searching for me? Do they exist? Did they ever even bother to look?

I don't know if my captor is in the room with me. I don't know if I am even in a room. All I know is the darkness of the hood. The silence of the earmuffs. The chaffing of the rope. The stench of sitting in my own excrement. The terror of never knowing where the enemy is. Who the enemy is.

I don't dare move or speak. I quickly learned that even coughing would result in punishment. Even chewing the pellets I was sometimes given would cause a beating.

I wonder if the boys have given up on me. Did they even exist? They had to exist. They can't be another hallucination. Those are my life. and they are my sanity. I am in a constant state of dreams.

I feel something on my shoulder. I know better than to move. Even if it wasn't him touching me, then I would still be punished. The object goes into my mouth, causing me to gag. I refrain from throwing up, but know I'm going to get it.

I steel myself from flinching. That only makes the punishment worse. The lash lands on my shoulder blade. I'm no masochist, but there is something reassuring about the pain. After all, being in pain means I am still alive.