Diary

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

                The light went on about two minutes ago. I just looked at what I wrote yesterday. I was pretty angry. After I wrote it I slammed the book on the floor and cried in the corner. I need to stop letting this get to me. I need to stay strong, even just for the sake of my sanity.

I am lying in the bed as I write. I’ve gotten so good at this that I now know exactly when the hatch on the door will open and the food will come through. Here’s how it works - the light comes on, I count to thirty eight, the hatch opens. Thirty eight seconds, that must be how long it takes him to walk from the light switch to the door. That’s quite a distance really. I must be in quite a large place. It’s got me wondering what goes on in the rest of the building. I wonder who else might be here. Other girls? I hope not. Although it would be nice to know I’m not alone in here.

                I wish I had someone to talk to, apart from myself. I tried pleading with him every time he opened the hatch to feed me or take away the pot. Every time I heard the bolt being pulled across I would leap to the door and press my face to the ground. The hatch would slide open and I would beg and cry with whoever was out there. “Please let me go,” I would say, “I don’t know why you are doing this to me.” One time I reached my arm out through the hatch but he just kicked at me until I pulled it back in. He didn’t feed me for three days after that. Sometimes I would remain calm and try to reason with him. “Look, whatever it is you want from me, just tell me and I will see what I can do,” I would say. “My family isn’t very rich but I am sure they would pay you a lot to let me go.” The answer was always the same, in that he said nothing. Not a single word. Not even a grunt or a sigh or a laugh. Screaming my lungs out through the open hatch proved pointless rather quickly. I don’t do that anymore.

                The most I have ever seen of him is his hand, passing in the food. Nothing much to say about it really. It’s a normal hand, no distinguishing features to identify him. It is a man though, of that I am sure. I know this because there is hair on the back of the hand. No, his hand is ordinary; it’s what it’s attached to that is the evil. I often sit here and try to imagine what he looks like. I imagine he is some creepy, ugly weirdo, a truly sinister monster, but in truth he probably looks completely normal; just like his hand.

                I’ve thought about trying to attack him when his hand is visible for that split second but what would it achieve? Maybe some satisfaction at causing him pain, but I would probably just pay for it in some way; tenfold.

                The bread and water is lying on the floor but I’m not hungry. I think I will try to exercise for a while.

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I managed to do some short bursts of running. I think my room is about twelve foot by twelve foot. I bounced back and forth from wall to wall for about five minutes. I had to stop more because my feet hurt on the wooden floor rather than because I was tired. I did some press-ups also and now I feel a bit better. I think more exercise is the key if I’m going to get through this. I ate the bread and drank most of the water. Not long until lunch.