Waiting, paranoid.

Waiting…. A minute… two minutes. Three… maybe an hour. I haven’t really taken notice to how long I’ve been here. This place is like sitting in hot sludge. It’s warm and holds you tight. But there is a part of you that knows it’s toxic. That it is slowly draining the life out of your body. I could get out of here… but I feel as if I am being watched. Every once in a while I hear distant sounds through the walls, like someone trying very hard to keep still and quiet softly adjusting in their seat. If I wasn’t under surveillance I could walk around… see if there is an exit to this place. But I know only a fool would stand right now. I am not a free citizen. Not anymore. They came for me, and now I belong to the unknown and unseen authority. Waiting. Waiting. Maybe a year. Two years? Three? Who could know at a time like this. I want to scream, or throw the vase across the room at that ominous mirror that wont stop staring at every breath I take. Maybe if I adjust, they’ll be surprised and make a louder noise. My suspicions  would be confirmed… or I might be afforded a liberty… but perhaps they will think I am trying to escape and knock me out. They do a good job hiding the nozzles, but I spotted them right when I woke up. Ill just jerk my whole body at once, so they’ll think it’s a spasm. There. No sound from behind the glass eye.  Maybe I am alone.

Waiting… I haven’t heard a thing. Silence. Maybe I am, alone. What’s the worse that would happen if I stood up? They could gas me… would they shoot me? Would they march in and beat me? Anything is better than nothingness, empty space and useless time wandering on and on in unstoppable repetition.

When I stood up I was tense all over. I could feel every fiber of my being. With each breath I grew more tense, like a piano sting twisting into tune. I watched the nozzles. They were still. I focused on my ears to hear the movement from behind the glass, attendants or officers rushing into the room. But there was nothing. Maybe I really am alone… waiting.

After looking around the room I could find no door, no window, nothing but a ventilation system with thick bars restricting entrance. I had nowhere to go. There were eight hard plastic seats surrounding the room, one table in the center with an empty vase in the center. No decoration on the walls and no airflow from the vent. Everything was silent, stagnant, empty. A great hollowness filled my bones as a thought there would be no one coming for me. I walked to the window in a final act of defiance against my silent captures and knocked on the window.

“Hello?” I said politely, knocking again. “Shouldn’t you be rushing in, or gassing me by now?” Silence. “No? Ok. Thanks.”

No captures in the history of kidnaping did nothing. There was always a ransom, or a demand, some kind of work to submit their new slave to. I wouldn’t just be left to my own devises. Would I? I knocked harder, this time truly panicked that I was alone.

“HEEELLOOO?!? Jesus, AREN’T YOU GOING TO DEMAND SOMEKIND OF PENENCE FROM ME?” No reaction, no sound, silence in the stillness.

“Oh. Silence… finally.”

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