Captured
Something was not quite right about the outside day. The surroundings seem peculiar. The time is not right. Who would think that a simple walk in the fresh air would take such an unforeseen turn? It was morning but something was wrong. There was sand below me where the feet meet the Earth. What happened to my shoes? Jungles to the left, ocean to the right, all unfamiliar. How I got here is beyond me. The last thing I remember was walking on a crowded street in center metropolis late at night a few weeks or years ago. I had just left the downtown mall.
The day was already in full swing with brightness, sweltering heat all around me now filled with waves of un-pleasantries. At first glance that would not be deemed frightening. Heat mixed with waves of heavy air, verging from a maximum discomfort zone, seemed unusually heavier than usual. I think I landed in a tropical land. It could be my imagination. Perhaps the environment or weather patterns shifted but how did they switch from night to day so quickly? A complete cerebral break down must have occurred while I slept but I don't remember going to sleep. My brain needs a little tweaking. A little re-calibration of reality might be in order if not required to reestablish sanity. Things are clearly not as they should be. I feel out of place. Something is strange here, something missing. I'm not myself. Where is my wallet? I'm lost without it. My very existence and identity are hidden away in the thing. I have no identity without identification and who am I without the minuscule amount of cash tucked away securely in its folds for emergencies and simply getting around town?... but enough about that.. What now?
2 men in old gray military uniforms approach. They don't say a word. One of them hits me with a wooden club. I am tossed forcefully into a small ready made metal holding box on the beach. 2 small holes at the top were the only openings. They became my permanent portals to the outside world and I might add, my continued breathing.
I remained there for several months with no access to the existence I once knew. The holes in the crate came in handy for limited sun light penetration. Life inside the box was a hot dark miniature world. Living a life of privilege did not prepare me for this. My universe shrunk drastically, was diminished to this simplistic, primal, barbarian state of being. It was hard adjusting to pain, to deprivation, to lost freedoms.
The captors never spoke to me. Indifference being the height of inhumanity, I naturally cast a critical eye on them as being human. These savages and their behavior are odious at best. Once a day they would dump some food, (garbage), in a small slot. Some days I would not or could not eat it, knowing instinctively that it would do me harm. It smelled disgusting and was too repulsive to consume. Twice a day I would get a small tin of warm water through the same slot. Recently I was offered what appeared to be a leathery slimy shoe bottom grotesque thing to eat. It remained on the menu for the time being. I kept it close for future consideration.
Twice a day I was taken outside. I was afforded time for a daily beating and five minutes to clean myself up in the ocean. Pain and pleasure became one.
One day I drew a large number 18 in the sand with my index finger in hopes this might inspire conversation or at least curiosity from my captors. It does. It infuriates them. The clubs come out again and they beat me with a greater passion, with more intensity than usual.
It was a beating filled with great zeal and emotion, almost like a religious experience without the religion.
When I was sufficiently tenderized, beaten down into submission, they would return me to my box in a not so gentile friendly fashion.
It turns out that I would have wasted my time in communicative attempts with these mutants in the first place. Recently I overheard them at a distance talking loudly. It was a language unknown to me. I suspected it was unknown to everyone else on the planet, anyone other than themselves. It came with unpleasant rasping intonations, a very unpleasant sound to the unsuspecting ears having to endure it and many questions as to its origins.
Time elapsed. I grew tired of the boring cuisine, the mundane sameness of things and tiresome surroundings. It was time to move on so I devised a plan of action. The escape relied entirely on my over all general health condition and my ability to run. I must be able to outrun my keepers with sustainable speed. It was equally important to employ the correct moment for a distraction, to catch them off guard, to keep them preoccupied with something, anything other than me.
As fate would have it, changes were already in the air and in the works. The 2 uniformed men brought an unexpected guest to my humble metal home. He was an elderly to ancient small gentleman with long white hair and even longer white beard. He spoke very clear English but I could tell by his features that he was from some foreign land. What a coincidence though. I too spoke the same language. I thought this might be the start of something good. I was wrong. He gave instructions to the mutants to beat me and return me to the box. It was a short lived visit.In fact it appears I am being abandoned. The weather also took a turn for the worst.
After 3 days of isolation it dawned on me that the 3 men might have left me forever. I would certainly die of hunger and thirst. The agony of mind and body set in but I was morbidly happy. It was good that the strangers had gone. They were repulsive. Who or what could do such awful things to a fellow human being?
The 2 holes on the top of my box offered little hope and for the past two days they offered little light. A rare event was taking place, an endless rain with plenty of flooding. I didn't mind the dark so much. I had something more important than light. I was able to get my mouth up to the holes to take in enough water in order to survive a little longer.
The Dream
There was no difference between night and day when the storms came. Living in the dark box was easy. The heat and water problems were solved for the time being. I thought heavily on an event that occurred a few years earlier. A beautiful young woman with long blonde hair walked serenely through a busy downtown mall full of shoppers and workers. She disrobed her clothes one garment at a time, dropping a blouse to her left, a skirt to her right, tossing her stockings and shoes behind her as she paraded by. It was so enticing to observe. I watched her saunter in slowly, methodically, to a nearby lingerie boutique. She only had on shear white panties at this point. A black female clerk approached, “Can I help You?” “Are you looking for anything special?” Bright spotlights from the ceiling beamed down directly on the young shopper's lovely body. They focused on her perky nipples in a dazzling display of what can only be described as, natures best. The girl and her nipples aimed squarely in the clerks direction, came closer, cautiously and with firm intent. She said, “Yes.” “I'm looking for something to match my smile and present disposition.” The store clerk replied, “How about some clothes for starters?” The blonde stretched her arms up in the air, yawned and said, “Maybe next time.” then turned, walked out into the chilly mall, leaving behind her panties on the lingerie store floor. What more could they want from a patron?
Comments