Short Stories

The Perfect Prison

WARNING: This ones a mouthful. Beware of the flashback.

I licked my dry lips, the four walls of my cell heavily drawing nearer, faster with each tread, till I could hear its footsteps. An overwhelming strain of anxiety had over come me, claustrophobia welling up inside. I could hear it hissing at me, mocking me, hurting me, biting me. Slowly the darkness was winning.

I clenched the rough, chalky bedsheets, knowing what was coming next. Better yet, fearing what was coming next.

Already, I could feel it clawing through me, climbing through me, the tingle of its tracks carelessly leaving scars as it walked through. It's force was too strong, and it was just pulling me in.

By this point it felt evident nothing I did would prevent what was to come, only a clear gate for repugnant thoughts ready to manipulate me into the belief that this was forever. No. It felt evident nothing I did would prevent what was to come, but I could try.

But how, was the question. There was no one I could trust. Do I keep quiet and betray my beliefs, or speak out and betray my heart?

I gasped painfully, as I felt it's poison leaving my body. The absurd part; it didn't harm me. It didn't injure my thoughts, destroy my memories, break down the wall I once believed I'd so strongly built. The visions that wounded my thoughts, continuously reminding me of the grief yet to come, left no damage, and I still didn't know whether I felt more relief or more fear. Why didn't I have a vision?

I unleashed the bed sheets from my grasp, marks like wounds spread all across its body.

I allowed myself a small chuckle. It's true, I do hurt everything I touch.

I remained seated in my position on the floor, afraid of a single movement conjuring my fears, all hope disappearing. I realised i had nothing to think about, nothing happy to remember.
A barrier had already been set up between me and the world, both literally and figuratively. One was built by the people, one was built by me.

By now, there was no point. I had already faced the consequences of trying to fight a force so strong. I ran and I ran and I ran. My lungs screaming for air, my body crying for peace. I thought I'd had enough wounds.

I'd made it through everything, they all feared that'd happen sometime. Until I'd turned the corner and found one more thing left between me and my freedom. Of course. A gate.

I had no choice, I pushed my feet through the small holes in the gate and began to climb. "Just this." I told myself. "Just this, and you'll be OK." How pathetic. I could never be OK.

I pulled my weight higher and higher, each step became slower and slower, until an agonising pain brought me down. It's whistle was like a whisper, and it was enough to stop me. I fell hard on the floor, and immediately realised the harsh breeze. I felt weak. The venom was like a snake, threatening to touch, threatening to hold. Was it the cold hard floor, or my embarrassment sending shivers down my spine?

The small hole at the bottom of my cell slammed open, a tray with scraps for food slipped in. A deep, inconsiderate voice follows. "Grubs up."