His clothes were rags. Scraps of material that had long since deteriorated. What was left was covered in mud, sweat,blood and human excretement. His hair once trimmed trendily by a top hairdresserand always kept neat and tidy now reached halfway down his back. It too was matted with mud, blood and housed many insects.
A once slightly overweight heavy-set man was now reduced to less than half his original size. Ribs sticking out, begging to be counted. His skin the colour of custard, a sickly yellow, draped like a potato sack over his brittle bones. His round face now fine and angular. His thin colt like legs making it impossible for him to walk. Dark guarded eyes sunk back in his head. A mere reflection of his former self.
It had been six months since he had seen real sunlight, the windows in his cell being covered several inches thick with dirt and grime. Five and a half months since he had tasted meat. Five months since he had had a shower. He was given a bucket of dirty water once a week to wash in, a meal of cold rice, stale bread and dirty waterevery second day. The meal, always cold stale and covered in cockroach droppings, tasted better than the 5 course meals he had once eaten. The water tasted as clear as crystal, better even than the most expensive champagne. He was oblivious to the flies learning to swim in his cup, the inch thick layer of grime around the rim of his cup and the cockroach droppings in the water.
The white light was too bright for him it stung his eyes. His eyes the windows to his soul. Now he was free. He could eat proper meals, but the meat was too tough, the desserts too rich.
He was free. Voices were so close yet so distant. Talking, laughing, Having a good time. He couldn't join, couldn't speak a word, couldn't laugh. People now surrounded him wanting to hear his story. He was a hero yet he couldn't speak a word.
Couldn't divulge his deepest secrets, his darkest terrors. His mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, his tongue as heavy as concrete.
Images swam in his head. Black, grey, red. There was no light now, just eternal darkness. Death, torture, pain. Don't let them see you lower your head. Don't let them see your shoulders slump. Don't let them see the tears welling in your eyes; if they do they have won. They have defeated you. It is over.
Death, torture, pain. Black, grey, red. It is over.
The world was closing in on him. Faces, wrods, spinning, blurring around him then all was black. Relief, sanity at last.
His body hung from the beams of the room. Swaying in the breeze. Dull, lifeless.
The white light was too bright for him. It stung his eyes. His eyes, the windows to his soul. Curtains closed, shutters shut. Locking the secrets, the terrors deep inside.
Unknown "Perfidia" Cheeky
- 16 years, 9 months, 2 days ago
