LOST

Untitled Part 1

        Rays of light breach through the window, boarded by scraps of wood with peeled paint nailed into the wall. I begin to hear the creek streaming with water and the birds chirp in the near distance. As soon as I began to fully wake up a sudden pang of fear wrenches in my stomach. I quickly get up and begin to take in my surroundings... slowly realizing I was only dreaming of being free again. The reality crashes down as my shoulders grow heavy and slump towards the ground, I grasp for the floor and fall down to my knees weeping from the sting of false hope. I am stuck. Have been for the past 74 days. Only small amounts of bread and water find themselves inside this dark, confining space. Concrete slathers the walls and ceiling. The glass in the window has been broken when I attempted to get out the first week I arrived, but damn iron bars the window so that no one can come in... nor out. A prisoner, but for what? No human contact. No television. No sound of whizzing cars pass by. I miss the sound of trivial small talk, the sound of laughter, the aroma of the city, and the slightest touch of someone accidentally bumping into you on the street. 

        I gather my bearings and rise towards the small portion of the wall lit by the rays adding another tally-- seventy-five days now. Near the window on the floor lies my daily loaf of bread and bottle of water. A feast. I dig in but only swallow a sip of water. It has to last me the rest of the day. As I finish my bread I faintly remember... "Joe you piece of shit you? What are ya gonna do about yer kids Joe? You're just gonna drop 'em like that? What kind of father are you?" A woman screams with a heavy southern accent whiskey stifling in the air as she breathes heavily. I sit next to a boy around my age flicking through the television trying to pay no attention to the conversation. The image starts to fade and I can no longer recall what I was just thinking about. Small recollections of who I am come and go. The tiniest of awful memories I have held onto piece together the little I even know about myself. Seventy-five days. Seventy-five days. Seventy-five days? 

        The day I was kidnapped remains a blur. Pretty much anything past the last couple of days fades out of my memory. Maybe its a good thing my memories shot. A mechanism of survival. Yet I have a prehistoric longing forged beneath my temporal lobe begging to remember an inkling of who I am. In order to puzzle the mosaic of my situation as of now... imprisoned and long forgotten. Forgotten by the world and by myself, a shame, that I cannot even miss myself. I am sure somewhere there is someone missing me, able to tell me the person I am or once was. I can only hope and even that, proves more lethal than stranded in nowhere. Blades slice the air as a helicopter approaches and its not more than fifteen minutes until footsteps approach... allowing a flood of light blind me as the door swings open concealing the figure in rays of light too bright to look at directly.

        A sack smothers my head as I feel leathered hands grab me from my midsection. My feet lose touch with the ground as I feel myself being thrown over someones shoulder. Their feet beat the ground in a rhythm. They make no noise, all I can hear is the helicopters blades slice the air. Something heavy hits my head and the world becomes a daze of darkness. I feel the throbbing of the back of my head and the cool air sting from what I assume is blood oozing at the point of impact. My world escapes me and everything goes absolutely dark.