You awake on your own accord, smacking your dried lips together in attempt to moisten them; your eyes feel particularly heavy this morning, refusing to budge open even the tiniest sliver. Attempting to swing yourself off the bed results in equally as frustrating results, with one forlornly launching itself off the edge, impacting itself on something solid, and rather hard.
“What the heck?” You think to yourself, the shock of the blow forcing your eyes to open now ever so much, daylight blinding you for a moment as assessments are done on what lies ahead. In front of you, your vision retarded by a colonnade of rigid, parallel bars; pale-white in coloration, eerily similar to something from a time long past. Focusing your attention past the barricade, blurring out the lines permits you to gaze to your surroundings further out. Though feeling rather scatterbrained, you can expend enough to make out the sky-blue walls encapsulating you, pocked with splatters of bright color; strange, boxy objects are present, varying in size, not capable of the concentration to see what they truly are.
“This…this isn’t right.” You think to yourself, remembering the room you had fallen asleep looking much more akin to something messier, and far more filled with refuse; this . . . place, reminded you of a nursery, not a teenager’s living quarters. A cold sweat was appearing on your forehead now, fear making its way down your spine in bone-chilling waves. Moving your arms forward, thinking that you could somehow manipulate the bars to opening, another sobering punch to the gut is gotten; your arms shakily outstretch before you, anemic in movement as if you had fallen asleep on them. Grasping your confines loosely, finger possessing tensile strength of tissue paper, nothing becoming of your effort.
“Gah, move already, get me out of here!” You wished to yell, stopping your frantic gyrations when all you are greeted with is a series of slurred syllables strung together in a whining squeal. Releasing your grip on the rods, you strain to move now unto your back, body feeling like a thousand pounds with each contortion of your spine; you can hear a crinkling beneath you, and with an inquisitive apprehension choose to tilt your head forwards. Such determination is rewarded with the sight of your waist wrapped in a puffy, disposable diaper; you think to scream, but decide against hearing the parody of your vocal ejaculations once more.
“Why…why am I dressed like this, what the hell is going!?” After a few more attempts to garner the strength needed to loosen the wooden fortification (which you now postulated to be the gate for an oversized crib), you flop down wearily, fury biding inside as wrinkled facets of vitreous anger melt into softened features of utter defeat; within a few minutes of diminishing resistance, tears flow freely down your reddened face in wet streaks, moans of despair rocking your body into spastic twinges of sorrow.
As your cries reach their peak, you can hear feet rushing their closer to you. Opening your eyes in alarm, you look up to find. . .
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author