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by Daniel Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Adult · #1030942
A short story describing the struggle of a man trapped in an uncontrollable situation.
I trace the walls with my hands, desperately looking for an insight as to where I am. The walls seem to be speckled with rock and small shards of glass. My left hand has been bleeding for a long time now. I know this because there is a counter above my head where I stand. It remains a transfixed entity in the place I find myself in, almost like a God, shining down upon me. It illuminates the room enough for me to be able to see that there is no exit, which gives the counter an allure of sorrow as it watches over me. I am wearing the same suit that I dressed myself in this morning before I left for work. I do not feel at all nauseous, hungry, thirsty or tired.
The counter started as soon as I awoke in this place, I glanced upwards and the counter hit ten seconds. I have been unable to discover my whereabouts for as long as I have been here. The counter has just reached 15000 seconds. I sit down on the hard floor and contemplate my actions.
I try as best I can to not think about why I am in this situation. I arrived at work as I do everyday, in the same grey office with the same grey walls and the same grey people. I prepared a schedule for what I have to do for the rest of the morning, as I like to keep myself organised and keep my schedule as tight as a constricting snake. I remember receiving a fax at nine eighteen the same morning instructing me to attend a meeting at twelve thirty regarding a possible merger with a new buyer. I remember opening the door to room 36 on the ninth floor.
Every eighteen thousand seconds two thuds can be heard at the bottom of my cell as I receive an unlabeled bottle of water and two slices of bread packed with a paste like substance that I do not recognise, it resembles walnuts and fish. There is no trapdoor at the roof of my cell, no opening, no gateway and no escape. Where the items come form is a mystery to me. As much a mystery as to why I am in this situation.
The temperature of my chamber is stable, I feel no source of heat, yet I am not at all cold.
The counter is now marked at seven hundred and seventy seven thousand, six hundred and sixty; nine days since I awoke here.
I am a mute. Never have I had the ability to be able to disperse of my thoughts or my emotions vocally. But considering the situation that I am in presently, this factor remains insignificant to my current state.
One million, one hundred and twenty three thousand, two hundred seconds have passed. I have 2700 seconds until I receive my next food drop.
© Copyright 2005 Daniel (danielemmerson at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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