Relapse
The wheels next to me clatter on the stone floor. My legs have long since been broken by the guards, so I should be used to them by now. Today of all days, why must they be so deafening?
THUD. THUD. THUD.
My cellmate, the handyman, didn’t bother fixing the handrails on the left wheel. He was too busy smashing his skull into the cement wall, muttering the same word every goddamn day.
Again. Again. Again.
The guards had to drag the madman into the infirmary by his ankles as he clawed the ground, nails filing down to bloody nubs, frothing at the mouth at the thought of leaving his temporary abode. This place has a way of wearing at the mind.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Finally, the incessant pounding of that chair ends as the guards lift me to my feet. They dart glances in my direction, unamused at the prospect of having to carry me.
If you hadn’t broken my legs, you might not be so “inconvenienced,” as you are now.
A chair is before me. It looks like plastic, but I know that it cannot be. It’d melt considering its application. It can’t be metal, because even these sadists have standards. Must be a slick coat of paint on wood. Surely that could withstand over 2000 volts.
Ba-DUM. Ba-DUM. Ba-DUM.
Why is my heart pounding? I know I deserve this. The body was right there, right in front of me. I accept this. What I can’t accept is the four to five people sitting next to me with cameras in our faces, lights streaming down from the ceiling, an audience anticipating the coming spectacle.
Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention to the stage!
That shrill voice still rings in my ears to this day. That garish outfit of his is still visible to me. That feminine shriek to my left still haunts me. Let’s get this over with. Give us the control.
Three. CLICK.
The room has gone silent. An air of unease washes through me and the other participants. An air of glee washes through everyone else. Our hands clench the primers. Cold.
Two. CLICK.
A low hum stirs in the audience. People are getting excited. The night’s performance is about to reach its climax. Only one button for us to press. Finale.
One. CLICK.
It’s like a dream, a heavy sleep. And yet I am awake. My muscles tense and go limp. The control gauge in my hand falls. I can’t see them. But they must feel this way too. We’re together now.
Darkness.
I can’t hear them, but I know the crowd is cheering. I can’t see them, but I know the cameras are right in our faces. My senses are gone, yet I feel the energy pulsing through the room.
Here’s your show, folks. Soak it up for now, but don’t worry. You’ll soon see it again.
Again.
Again. Again. Again.
I take a breath from unfamiliar lungs. I see through unfamiliar eyes. My arms and legs feel not my own. It’s me, isn’t it? I feel my heart beating. Is it mine?
Ba-DUM. Ba-DUM. Ba-DUM.
Four to five people are next to me. Bewilderment rushes through the room. I don’t know their faces. I don’t know their names. I don’t know my face. I don’t know my name. But I know THEM. But I know ME.
Again. Again. Again.
This must be a dream. I should be dead. Even if it was a dream before, I should be awake. Am I lucid? This is my body, but no, it can’t be. I want to go back.
Forget. Live. Return.
Is this deja vu? I know this has happened before, but I don’t know when. The memory is clear, yet hazy. I see a body lying in front of me, motionless. I don’t know its face. I look to my right to see a puddle, reflecting all in front of it. I don’t know this face.
Again. Again. Again.
I don’t know how long it’s been since then. I began carving the days into the wall, but I lost my pick ages ago. Must be that damn handyman.
Again. Again. Again.
I keep hearing that voice even to this day. The tone has changed, but the words stay the same. It’s all too familiar. Almost as if it’s my voice. My real voice. I can’t feel my legs.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The wheels next to me clatter on the stone floor.
