Next, they took my sanity
This piece is a Write or Die piece written…
In response to Kathy Jacobs’ challenge:
“Hello… is someone there? Can you hear me?”
The voice was almost a whisper. If the enveloping, pervading, mind-numbing darkness had not been so silent that her heartbeat was loud, she might not have heard it. Just the sounds she made while crawling had probably masked the faint words.
“I…” She had to pause to cough. Her screams had worn out her vocal cords. “Yes, I can hear you! Where are you?” Where am I, she thought to herself.
“I don’t know.” The voice was weak, soft, vaguely feminine. It didn’t seem to come from any particular direction. “I can’t see. I don’t have any walls, just a floor. I don’t know where they come from. I can’t hear any doors opening. They just start asking questions. They want answers. I don’t know any answers. They said the next time they come back will be the last. Are you here to rescue me?”
She tried turning her head to figure out the direction the voice was coming from. If she could keep the voice talking, maybe she could crawl toward it. “No, I’m a— I guess I’m a prisoner too. I can’t see anything either. What do they want to know?”
“They want to know… Shhh! Did you hear that? Scratching?”
She still couldn’t figure out a direction. “No, I don’t hear it. What is it?”
The voice screamed. It cried and screamed and wailed. “They’re biting me! They’re biting me! They hurt, they hurt, they’re biting me, they’re eating me, THEY’RE EATING ME!” The cries and wails and screams went on… and on…
“Where are you? Where are you?” She still couldn’t guess at a direction. She started crawling, first in one direction, then another, while the voice wailed in pain and terror.
A long time later—a very long time later—it stopped.
She could hear her heart beating. But that was all.
The shadow on the left tapped on the screen displaying the thermal image of a crawling figure. “See here? She’s torn open the skin on her left knee. She probably hasn’t even realized it yet.”
The shadow on the right studied the same display. “She seems to be slowing down. I think she’s given up trying to find the other ‘prisoner’ for now.”
The shadow on the left sighed. “Yes, too soon. She’s not desperate enough yet. We’ll do this again in a few hours.”
The shadow on the right watched as the figure came to a stop and collapsed. “How did you get the tape of someone being eaten alive? Was that real?”
The left shadow laughed. “No, it turns out actually having someone eaten alive makes very unsuitable sounds. You know that horror film Rats on a Plane? We—”
“Oh I love that one!” the right shadow interjected, “They should have gotten the Oscar for sound! It was so well done!”
“Yes, anyway, the woman who did the sound on that? She did the recording for us. More effective and more cost efficient. And I mean, you heard it, it was wonderful!” The left shadow contemplated the display again. “I think I’ll start playing the audio with the rats moving around. Very soft. Just when it looks like she might be falling asleep.”
The right shadow checked the time. Almost two hours left on the shift. And the stupid machine was out of coffee again.
Charlotte Franklin, Tracy Aston, Captain Argentina, you have been entered to the Hell of the Dead by me. To escape to the Living Hall, you will have to recreate this piece in your own words or extend it as part of the Write or Die collaboration. Failure to comply will leave your name and soul in the Hell of the Dead.
