Twisted Memories (A Short Story)

Present

Her eyes were slowly getting used to the shadows and the darkness that lay within them. She didn't like that. It had been days since she had seen any form of light from the sun. She yearned for it. She yearned to hear the whistle of the leaves. She yearned to see birds in groups migrating south in their familiar V-shaped forms. She loved to see them every year.

She had lost most of her sense of time. It could be summer or winter for all she knew. Still, the walls and floors had been colder every night for a while. It didn't help that the walls of the warehouse was damp from the furious monsoon season that had finally ended. There was a breeze that came through the cracks. A breeze that was ominous as much as it was solemn. She was going to get sick soon. The sneezes were already here.

She was weary. No matter how hard she twisted and pulled, she could not break free from the handcuffs, so she had stopped trying a long time ago. The food she was given gave her nothing, so she stopped eating a long time ago. She had been so determined to get out of this place, to find help from someone, to do something. Her spirit had been so resilient, so strong, so unyielding, but that was a long time ago.

There was a loud creak that interrupted the silence and then a bang as the door opened. Brisk air rushed into the room that caused the woman to sneeze once, then twice.

The woman did not react to the sound. She knew that she should try to defend herself, but she did not move. Next to her, a pipe cried out in warning. It was a pipe that had been her only comfort in the past days, but not even that could influence her to move. The woman just stayed there in her little corner, quiet.

She finally shrieked out in pain as a hand pulled her up by her hair. The hand seemed not to care about the pain it inflicted. Out of nowhere, the hand bashed her head into the wall with tremendous force. The bones in the woman's nose broke once more. She screamed in pain as she felt blood rush down to her chin. It gushed down like a waterfall with an endless supply.

"I'm glad you liked that, Lucie. All of that blood must feel great, right?" Somewhere in the shadows, she heard a few sadistic chuckles. "Now, how about you answer my question from earlier? Do you remember the question?"

Lucie did remember, but she kept her mouth closed. Somewhere deep inside her, something yelled at her to answer. It was probably her instinct. She ignored it and waited for the consequences. The hand smashed her head back into the wall and she screamed once more.

"It's very rude to ignore a person's question. But, this must mean you don't remember the question. That's fine. I had asked you what your favorite color was. It is red as I had thought?" The voice was at her ear whispering, and its hot breath trickled down Lucie's ear. She wanted to shudder. She did not.

Lucie remained quiet. Another smash, a punch, and then a kick right after. That was all. The hands and the foot went away. The door slammed shut. Lucie was breathing laboriously.

Yet, she was glad. There had been no matches and candles. There had been no paper bags and tape. There had been no whippings and pepper spray. It had been just the hands and the foot. That was a cause for joy.

Her eyes filled up. Her silent cries turned into loud, uncontrollable sobs that racked her entire body; they were the only sounds within the dark and hollow room.

Then her mind went blank.