Intoxicated

I. Pathetic

The stench is unbearable and I am trapped in it. I gasp for more air. I don't know how long I've been stuck in this position, but it's scaring me that I may be stuck for eternity.

My throat's burning but I try shouting for help again. It's pathetic.

I'm pathetic.

My cheeks haven't dried up from the last time I cried yet I can feel tears forming again.

Like I said, I'm pathetic.

But that's not it. I'm not just pathetic, I'm tired. Utterly exhausted.

I don't want this agony. I want peace. I want relief. I want out.

There's an ache pulsing through every bone in my body, ending me, almost killing me. Almost.

This almost reminds me of when Mama and Papa took me on that vacation to the theme park. The famous one – I can't quite remember its name - but there was this tower, a very big one. I hated it! It would require standing at the peak of the ride, and leaning forward to a handle, and then the handle would spin you around as fast as it possibly could, leaving you to hold on to that unstable piece of metal for your life.

My breath left me for those few moments and I thought I would slip as my palms grew sweaty but then it was be over and I opened my eyes and I was back on the ground, albeit a bit dizzy.

But now - now it's like I'm spinning again and again and again. Feeling like I'm being punched in my gut over and over and over. And I can't find the ground anymore.

My head's hurting again.

It's pounding.

I hear the sound of my own scream, it seems foreign. My voice seems to have a mind of its own: Shouting for help; sobbing (embarrassingly) loudly; praying for a God that doesn't care about me.

It's like my brain can't even register it anymore. Like my tongue tries to take control of a luckless situation.

"It's no use." I croak before erupting into laughter.

A hysteric laugh that stabs at my gullet.

At some point in between my hysterics, I must have started crying. I can feel my blindfold start to itch again.

I've gone mad.

There's no doubt about it.

I, Romeo Loera, have reached the point of sanity.

And the worst part?

I. Don't. Care.

What's that? It sounds like footsteps. Running.

Is this my brain taking over? Making me believe I'm being saved. Probably.

What else could it be? I've been here for days and nights.

There's no hope for me.

I'm Pathetic. With a capital P.

I guess there's no such thing as hope for a prisoner as tortured as me.

No one even knows I'm here.

Oh my god! No one knows I'm here! What about Papa? Mama? What happened to them? And Rossi? She's still in England, isn't she?

Whoever trapped me here must have done something to my parents too!

It's my fault! I didn't fight back. I let them do this.

Whoever they are.

I need to save my family!

From what though? And how?