Sharpness is the Key

Untitled Part 1

The Box. It's always been the same. Six smooth, steel walls completely sealed. I always wonder why? Yet it's strange, how that dappled, crepuscular light penetrates the thick barrier which surrounds me. Walking around with my hands outstretched, searching the cool smoothness, I find no openings. It has become a bit of a ritual really. After each visit just to check, just in case. But I'm always disappointed. It's not much really, but it's enough for my stomach to flip.

There's no sounds. No creak of crumbling metal, no moans or groans from anyone else's presence, no swish of skin against metal in my daily routine.

As far as company goes there's me and the stale air filled with the pungent smell of unwashed bodies. That's until the visit, when He comes.

The Man. He appears from nowhere. At one moment there's just me, sitting in my corner puzzling about the dancing patterns illuminating the ground. Then there is the slow breath of another just millimetres from my ear, a hot vapour that sends goosebumps down my neck and the words that I dread, "Hello, Aislinn."

The word 'snake' comes to my mind when I see him. His long thin limbs attached to his slender body, clothed in a dark burgundy and blood red suit. This isn't the only reason I'm given the sly impression. It's the piercing yellow-green eyes buried beneath his eyebrows that try to lure me. They are fixed into a permanent stare He tries to entwine with mine. It's the moustache and cropped beard that emphasise the sharpness of his face. It's the smile plastered on his face that contains the tongue I imagine to be forked. And it's the sickly sweet lies that spill from his tongue into my ears.

...

Each visit is the same; expected yet unforeseen but mostly terrifying. My wrists and ankles are bound by those two words, "Hello, Aislinn," and tape appears over my mouth. In an instant I'm at his mercy. A mercy that doesn't exist. He towers over me, his poisonous glare tries to trap my eyes. The walls start to close in on me until the confinement becomes unbearable. That's when the lies begin and the story is always the same:

"Aislinn, Aislinn, Aislinn. Cooped up away from the world, isolated from all existence. No life to live, no future to dream, only a past to despair. And who's to blame? Oh, I can tell you that. A few simple words really; family, friends, you. They all drove you into here. Why you ask? How? If only you had looked deep into their eyes. If only you had looked past the fake exterior and into the depth of their souls. You would have seen it. Their hearts dripping with envy, soaked in loathsome hatred. They wanted you gone. They wanted you to disappear for good. They wanted you to go mad!"

By this stage I would try to scream at him, try to lash out at him, make him know that only he was the enemy. The only thing he sees is a whimpering heap rolling in distress over the floor. Soon after that he leaves, but not before whispering in my ear those words of horror, "Remember, sharpness is the key." Then he disappears taking with him the nauseating scent of death.

...

I wonder why he chose me. What he must see each time he enters The Box. A pile of yellowing clothes almost ripped beyond existence, enveloping a skinny figure hunched into a ball. Dark brown, matted hair partially tumbling down her face. Glazed eyes weeping tiny rivulets into the cheeks. Torn nails scattered around her feet. Fingers in her mouth, nails gnawed to the bone.

Why is that message always the same? Why is he continuously trying to distort my mind? Why is he trying to persuade me that it's the truth? It can't be. No one sane could do that to a person. Not a person in their family. Not a friend. But the repeated words, they continue to ring in my mind. They send shivers down my limbs till I'm a shaking mess. What if it was the truth though? Can anyone muster that much hate? My family and friends, they must have evil in their skins and horns embedded in their brain.

My thoughts, they try to escape me, try to run away with the nightmare he's drilling into my brain. I will not allow it. I must not allow it!

...

The bugs. They appeared soon after His last visit. They crawl silently in from the blackness, snaking up my fingers, wrapping around my knees. They pass through the skin and bone and blood into my veins. Only a few at first; I thought they would eat away at the reason that led me to being locked away in this cell. But then more arrived, scurrying on six little black legs, burrowing deep through my flesh to make a home there. I cannot stop them, they don't realise it's a trap.

I spend most of my time trying to set them free now. I've made little red lines down my arms, legs and throat. They can't find the gaps yet. I need to make more. My flesh holds too tight to peel away. If only I could burrow deeper they would have a chance to escape, to leave my body and take with them the horror of my soul that made my family lock me away. No, I mustn't blame them! It was The Man. It could only have been The Man. Perhaps.

...

He's back. I can feel his breath running down my neck, like fingers trying to reach my heart. Maybe they will tear away the evil that made them send me here. Those two words, the ones that send my head into a whirl, the ones that capture my freedom, they bind my wrists and tape my mouth. And for once I welcome them. They seal the entrance to my flesh. Even if I can no longer help the bugs inside, the ones outside can be safe. They're persistent, I'll grant them that, but at least they can be free.

The words like honey fill my ears and again, I welcome them. They're soothing. They speak of the evil in the world, they tell me how I'm safe, they tell me how He is good, how He can help me. And He will. He's told me the secret to survive. I didn't see it at first but now I know. I know how to set them free. After all, "Sharpness is the key."