Condfindment

Chapter Two

     By the fifth week I had 35 marks on my wall. one for each day. I counted a day when I was brought dinner. My daily routine consisted of wake up at lunch, which my body had gotten used to waking up at the same time everyday, clean myself with the rag, clean my room and make my bed, and read a chapter of Of Mice and Men. A book provided to me by my daughter, she was only three but she'd thought I'd like it, and then pace around my room aimlessly, then I'd "enjoy" dinner and stare at the walls trying to find any details or imperfections in the cement wall.

     This continued for even longer and by the tenth week I don't think the marks on my walls were correct anymore. Sometimes they'd skip a dinner or lunch, maybe even a whole day of food. I started to loose weight. I had nothing to do and no one to see; it felt like I was going mad. By the end of year I had read Of Mice and Men more than 12 times, minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days. Those days felt like weeks, weeks months, and months felt like years. My head began to grow fuzzy and I felt like nothing really existed anymore. Did I even exist. Was I even human?

     My routine became my saviour, if I woke up late or let my dinner fall when I got it I went insane. Crazy I was crazy. Screaming profanities, chewing on my nails until they were down to my skin. My skin, my skin, my skin, my skin. I constantly banged my right hand against the wall. Bashed my head against the door until I collapsed on the floor in guilt and misery. If I was feeling special that day i'd take my nail and constantly drag it across the ground until it was sharp and bleeding. I'd then take it and scrape it across my skin. It felt nice, something I could feel. Feeling, I had feelings. Did I have feelings?

     Nights were like nothing ever happened, in fact I longed for nights. When I dodnt sleep I cried all night. All nignt. Around the second year is when the guilt had started to kill me, I ripped apart my book and threw it out the slot. My ribs were skinny and I now slept in the corner, I did everything in the corner. The rats weren't in the corner, the rats wouldn't stop, they never stopped. Rats? Such a weird thing. When they weren't crawling over me they were crawling all over the walls. My eyes were well adjusted the dark, the power would go off for a couple days every couple of months.

     6 months later a guard came to my door and opened the door slowly keeping his taser out in front of him. I didn't make an attempt to move; I didn't even make an attempt to open my bloodshot eyes. I hadn't slept in about 2 days. He took one look at me and his shoulders fell, my hair fell past my eyes, it hasn't grown much in the past two years. I didn't even had facial hair, only stubble.

     He picked up my frail body and took me upstairs to an infirmary. They looked at me a minute before transporting me to an actual hospital.