Part 1: Darkness](http://ift.tt/207V34y)
part 2: Meal Time
Part 3: Encroaching Nightmare
Part 4: One
The atmosphere in my cell changed considerably. Admitting I was alone in that hell hole rattled me in a way that I can’t begin to explain. Even if a part of my subconscious had always known, saying it out loud was...unsettling. When the screams stopped each morning, my cell was silent. It was a stark contrast to the screaming, and frankly, it was worse.
In the silence, there was tension. Uncertainty. Coupled with the choking darkness, it sent chills down my spine. I was the only prisoner, but I wasn’t entirely alone. There was something else in that place with me. People talk about instincts and “vibes”. People and places feel unsafe. Even if you can’t pinpoint why, your body recognizes danger and sends you signals.
As we grow up, society conditions us to ignore the warning signs, and we have plenty of distractions to help us do so. Sitting in that cell...isolated, hungry, and justifiably afraid, those warning signs were all I had.
In some twisted, backward way, meal time became something I looked forward to. Meals brought sound, light. They brought other...living things into my cell to sit with me. The stimulation distracted me from the silence and from the ominous presence looming over my prison.
I know what you’re thinking. The faceless woman promised to starve me. She did. That feeling isn’t something you can just forget. I didn’t eat for two weeks, but that does not mean there were no meals. Three times each day, the shadow man kicked in the door to my cell, chained me to the wall and made me sit there as he ate, and he ate well.
My tormenter lit a candle at each meal. It never provided much light, but that was clearly the point. After so much time living in darkness, my eyes were particularly sensitive. He could have easily tortured me by shining flood lights in my face every time he came to eat, but this was a different kind of torment. The candle was a softer light. One my eyes could handle, and just enough to see the plate of food in my captor’s lap. They wanted me to know what I was missing.
The shadow man ate like a king in front of me. His breakfasts had crisp, sizzling bacon and the most perfect eggs I had ever seen. He slurped and chomped his way through fresh fruit that looked like it had been picked just in time to fill his plate.
Lunch brought thick, juicy cheeseburgers, piled high with onion straws and avocado slices. The meat was cooked so perfectly you’d think they were grilled by Bobby Flay. Occasionally, he’d bring in Italian beef sandwiches dripping with so much juice I could see the bread practically melting in his hands as he ate.
The aroma was so powerful I could actually taste everything, which only made my stomach more upset that it was running on empty. The worst part of it was realizing that these psychopaths must have been watching me long before I was taken. They knew all my favorite foods. Every single meal the shadow man ate looked like it had been hand selected from my refrigerator. Sometimes he’d come in with a plate full of prosciutto and just drop slice after slice into his mouth.
I wanted to kill him. If I hadn’t been chained to the wall, I might have tried. I imagined myself wrapping the chains around his neck and stringing him up like a puppet. Sometimes I just beat him to death with my bare hands. He knew exactly what buttons to push, and I was close to the breaking point.
Blood is power, and I could feel mine beginning to boil. By the end, I didn’t care about the food. I just wanted to hurt him. I wanted to slice open his neck and watch the blood flow out of him.
After the two weeks of starvation, I woke up to the sound of a plastic bowl crashing into the stone floor at my feet. It was a surprisingly familiar sound that immediately lifted my spirits. I opened my eyes to find a bowl of brown mush begging to be eaten. I started to reach for the bowl, but felt the tug of iron shackles on my wrist.
“Not just yet.”
I knew that voice. I hated that voice. The faceless woman was smiling at me from beneath her featureless hood. I could feel it.
“You have...potential,” she said. “I can sense it. There is power within you, more than you could ever imagine.”
I didn’t like the direction this was heading. I just wanted to eat. Even if it was only one bite, I needed something. It felt like my stomach was eating itself from the inside, and the sight of food had only made that feeling worse.
“If you offer yourself to the Faceless, I will set you free.”
The woman started at me for a minute. I think she may have been waiting for an answer, but when I didn’t respond, her smile faded. She must have known.
It all happened so quickly that my mind didn’t have time to process what my body was doing. The rage had boiled over, and I let go. I was no longer afraid; no longer hungry. Something else took control; something primal. I was acting on pure instinct. The chains were holding me back, but she was close enough.
I kicked my leg out and swept the faceless woman’s feet out from under her. She landed hard. I heard a disgusting crunch of bone that made me smile. I hoped she was dead. I wanted her to split her head open and bleed to death in front of me. The white hood that hid her face was going to turn red, and I was going to watch the life drain out of her.
I grinned. Blood is power.
I knew they saw me...the rest of her cult. They were always watching, and they knew she was dying. They’d come for her eventually, but they’d be too late. I saw the puddle seeping across the floor and into the light from the doorway. It was liberating. Even though I was still in chains, I felt free.
This decision was likely going to get me killed, but it was my decision. My choice. I was in control now. Whatever happened next would be a reaction; a response to something I did.
Blood is power.
The guards arrived as expected. Three of them wearing matching robes and the form-fitting white mask that I had come to hate so much. I was laughing by then. They were too late. They lifted the woman off the ground and onto what looked like a makeshift stretcher. I saw her face in the light, her mask, technically. It was saturated. The blood had soaked through completely, and it continued dripping onto the floor.
Blood is power.
Two of the guards rolled the body away, but the third remained behind. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the hood, but I knew they were the eyes of a man filled with rage. He grabbed me by the throat and pulled me onto my feet. The chains on my wrists were short. I could feel them tugging at my arms. I knew if I pulled too hard, I’d separate my shoulders.
The guard knew that too.
“That was a poor decision,” he said.
The guard yanked me away from the wall as hard as he could. I felt both shoulders rip apart. I let out an agonizing shriek and crumbled into a heap on the floor. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t care. For the first time since I’d been taken, I was in control.
Blood is power.
The guard spat in my face, and delivered a crippling kick to my stomach for good measure. The force of the blow made me throw up. It was little more than stomach acid, and it burned my throat.
“Consider that a taste of things to come,” the guard snapped.
He turned his back and walked out of my cell. He left the door open. The blood on the floor was practically glowing in the light, and I was so, so happy. Even if it was only for an instant, my life was mine again.
Blood is power. Death is life.
Submitted February 12, 2016 at 12:47AM by b_trippet http://ift.tt/1ovgL6J nosleep
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