Everyone is gone...
I'm all alone...
Only me...
Only me...
Trapped in this padded cell, there is no escape. Though, I can hear what they say. They are the ones who locked me away in this dust coated container. Those scientists think I'm mad! "Psychotic," they say! Though, I know this is false. I may be isolated in this white room, but it is this that has drained my conscious to it's last drop.
I. Am. Not. Mad.
It's the room. It is not normal.
Voices echo through these walls, emptying into an endless void. Voices that I cannot ignore. Not the chords of the scientists, no, but of shadowy entities unknown.
Yet... how could someone as "mad" as I, possibly comprehend what I am actually hearing? Many of those "upscale educators" believe I am hallucinating, but... how can I know for sure? How can I be absolutely certain that what I am listening in on, is but a fantasy? Because...
...I've seen them...
Whether my eyes are witnessing it or not. They are always there.
...They haunt me...
Even now. As I leave, to you, this note.
~
I have recently noticed... one of them, in particular, has taken a thorough interest in me. As my upper limbs were securely strained in a heavily bound straight jacket, one might wonder how on Earth I am able to write with a reluctantly spared parchment and pen.
One of them helped me.
It slipped through a large crevice in the high ceiling as slumber grasped me, a few nights back. Since then, I have mentally studied and observed these activities. They occur in the shadows, beginning at twilight and staying constant until daybreak. I relived that dreadful moment continuously, as I will for you now.
And so on... as it sneakily descended towards me, it then reached out. I could feel its cold, bony fingers creep up the rough material, and unfasten the knot. I kept my body still, of course attempting to give no sign of my awakening. My eyes kept their stances, not daring to dart towards the 'object of interest.' The felt of the sleeves loosened a tad, allowing my arms to slide to my sides. As I laid on the solid tile, rotated towards the center of the room, my spine curved to fit the corner of two walls. I focused on keeping my breaths smooth and even. The figure rustled, preparing to once again slip through the crack, as if to retreat. Though, before it vanished, I thought it mandatory to catch one small glance at its features.
Cautiously, my right eye lid unsealed, so all that could be seen was a single slit of darkness. Except... something was off. I could make out a figure as my eye adjusted to the lack of illumination, yes, but it stayed oddly silent. Instead of focusing on the pleads of mercy that swirled between my thoughts, instinct kicked in immediately. Adrenaline pumped through my veins at the tiniest prick of imagination my brain conjured up. This... thing that stands before me could be an insanely wide range of possibilities, and dwelling on the subject only made my fear worsen.
The mind is a unique muscle, one that should be, not only loved, but feared.
At least, that is what I believe. The more you think, the more the pain grows. Just lying here in limp solitude, helpless, praying that whatever stands forth will not acknowledge my presence, is gut-wrenching. But as I examined the figure more thoroughly, in the dimness, I could make out a faint human-body like shape.
