Trapped In Nowhere

Locked up

Everything is blurry. A flickering light is aimed at his face, which has dried up in make-up, and is probably the reason why Manson wakes up a little sooner than planned.
His eyes are a crack open. It strains to stare into this strangely bright lamp. Marilyn wishes anything would inspire and motivate him to want to move a little in this damn moment. But he doesn't feel anything. Even his head is empty, without thoughts. As if his ability to think had been taken from him. But to be honest, he's glad that the endless chattering thoughts are finally wearing a muzzle.
His eyes are the only thing he can move slowly. The 32-year-old man soon began to wonder whether he was actually still alive or already dead. It doesn't take long til he could move his right hand. More minutes of decay, and slowly he turns his head to the right and left. Marilyn Manson can't believe his eyes. He wants to make sure that he is still dreaming, and will awake immediately because of this nightmare, and would find it easier to find reassurance in my embrace. Time flies, now Manson can move his whole upper body. He feels heavy ... and just so grotesquely strange. He crawls off the iron bed on which he was still lying, questionably. He simply drags his thin, long legs behind him as if they had both been broken. He becomes more and more panicky and claustrophobic as the dim look of his eyes becomes clearer. Is it really a prison cell? His intention is to crawl helplessly over this damp, greasy, old and of course disgusting floor like a rat whose lower half has been crushed, but he cannot go on. An ice-cold and heavy chain pulls on his neck as he tries to reach the prison cell door to escape. He is chained at the neck like a dog. Nowhere he can see the key to remove the shackles. A shocked groan of panic leaps from his smeared red lips. Marilyn feels like it will soon be black in front of his eyes again, he tries to get his uneven breathing back under control. The only thing that is somehow good is that manson's two legs have escaped deafness. As it seems was he sleeping too long with the good working overdose of numbness, because now it's dissapearing. He gets up hectically, is still a little shaky on his legs. A connected telephone catches his eye. Fortunately, the chain is enough and he can grab the telephone with his hand. He tries to call me on the phone, but someone else answers ... a stranger.
"Who's there? Are you christina?" Marilyn asks concerned. Another voice sounds, however, an unknown one. It sounds distorted and darkened. It is clearly a male.