The fact that I was a captive didn’t dawn on me until two days after it actually happened.
I was too sick to think much beyond my immediate urge to throw up at every opportunity.
When an hour passed where I began to think I was coming good at long last, it afforded me the chance to consider my circumstances.
I was in a dark room, I was confronted by a sickly smell which I soon realised was my own vomit.
I didn’t know how long I had been there for.
Time doesn’t seem to matter when you are incarcerated in a black hole.
A door opened away to my right, light poured in, a man in uniform entered, shuffled towards me, stopped looked at me, against the light I couldn’t identify him, he placed a bowl of food on the floor for me.
Food was the last thing I wanted.
Answers to the questions in my head were what I wanted.
Where was I?
Who were my captors?
How did I get here?
What did they want?
Maybe I was in a dream I told myself. Dreams can be so real, but lately I’d been having them with the wrong people in them, like time was all mixed up but then again in dreams time and place can be random. I shook myself as it to clear my head but I was still where I was before I did that.
There was music, confused rhythms, an unmelodic chorus of sounds each emitted from recognisable instruments as if the efforts of the non-musical let loose in the music room to create sounds designed to irritate, initiate, intimate an ultimate demise. It grew in intensity, my ears rang from the assault, louder it became, until I realised I was in the corner, hands over my ears, cringing as if my entire body was under an attack.
A girl entered and stood over me. ‘For a boy you are incredibly stupid. We are playing with your mind, getting inside that space between your ears where not much happens does it? Idiot.’
She left with a smirk on her face as the door closed the music erupted into a fanfare, this time there was some order to it, it was less affronting, less confronting.
There was a boy
Whom we thought a toy
He wandered in
But never wandered out
We poked and pushed
We pulled and prodded
He cringed in the corner
We laughed, such a miserable wretch
There was a boy
What’s his name?
Does it matter?
He’s only a boy.
Shrieking laughter echoed through the room
Something fell on me
Then a rain of items
The bombardment continues
I cringed further into the corner.
I felt a hand take mine and lead me to the table.
The hand was warm, comforting,
I feel myself breath a little easier
I was settled, fed, dressed,
Take to a place with a circle of light
Around the light were old people
Wrinkled and crone like.
They revolved around me
Spinning faster and faster
Faster and faster
Just a blur.
‘Sometimes,’ said a voice. ‘Its hard to distinguish between dream and reality.’
I sat up!