I tried to turn this on its head a bit, which made it go dark, but I'm not unhappy with the results.
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Captive
Sitting cross legged, watching the sun set over the ocean, I was grateful for the view if nothing else. I reached out and touched the plate glass. You wouldn’t know it was there if you couldn’t feel it. I traced the glass down to the tiled floor. Just a couple of centimetres away there was sand, but I could only imagine its texture. I didn’t know if I would ever feel it again.
I hoped every day to see someone on the beach, but
there was never anyone. But then I had no idea where I was in the world. I
could be in any country or on a remote island in any ocean across the globe. I
had no recollection of how I got here. One minute I was living my life, next I
was here. I used to have my own apartment, a cushy office job, nothing
elaborate, but enough to give me a life I was enjoying. And then I woke up to
find myself here in this room on a beach.
I’d mind less if I was alone but of course I wasn’t.
I was visited. I was here for a reason. And that reason made me grateful for my
view. I could get lost in that view and in my head, and I needed to, both
during and after.
I looked at the scratches on the floor in front of
the glass. I’d been here a little over a year. I had no idea if I would ever
get to leave here, but I didn’t think so. I’d stopped crying about it after
three months, what was the point?
I was catered for, I wasn’t starved. There were
clothes and toiletries for every need I had, and I couldn’t ask for a better
view. But I was no victim of stockholm syndrome; I had no clue about the
identity of my visitor, no conversation, no relationship. I was purely a vessel
- there for functional purposes only. Some days I wish I knew more, other days
I was grateful I didn’t.
The tide was coming in. I could see the line of tiny
sea foam creep closer and closer. It would never quite reach. It was meditative.
Hypnotic. It lulled me into the numbness that was keeping me alive. The sun
touched the water. It would be dark soon. I would wait until it was gone then
crawl into my bed and let my mind join it on the other side, where I could
still live.
I may have to write a second one for this week. We'll see. This one was rough enough to write. The second one? That one scares me.
ReplyDeleteDear Old Dad
I feel sorry for the fish! But good little story. Thanks for writing.
DeleteTold you I'd write the brutal one on Sunday. It's Sunday. Here it is. The one that scares me.
ReplyDeleteWorking On My Skills
It's an interesting concept, but as a horror reader and writer, reasonably tame for me. ;-) Thanks for writing it though.
Delete