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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

A messy note sits on a small desk. It has bloodstains, strange symbols and the words of a missing person on it.

Submitted: August 14, 2018

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Submitted: August 14, 2018



These walls have become my prison. Trapped in what seems to be a large house, but any and all attempts to leave the room result in me losing consciousness and finding myself in bed yet again. A white light blinds me, and my mind drifts off into a dream. The sky is permanently black, no stars in sight. I’m on a second floor, and there’s a door that leads to a balcony. Out there, there is only blackness. I can’t see the ground, and the only visible thing is a light post somewhere far, far away. Of course I’ve tried to weasel my way out of here. Slowly climbing down does nothing, as I’ll suddenly wake up on the bed once again. But I stopped trying to go down there to the darkness from the balcony. There’s something about that pure black void that seems very sinister to me.

Escaping was my priority, but I’ve been here for what seems to be years. I don’t get hungry or thirsty, or a need to go to the bathroom. My hair and nails grow fine, and my body seems to function more or less as it should. I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to rest in what seems like forever now. I usually work out to keep my body in decent shape in case something happens and I need to run or briefly defend myself. I’ve heard noises from downstairs, but can’t tell who or what it is. This is like a nightmare.

I’ll be honest: I no longer try to escape. I’m trying to find ways to die. I don’t know what I did or what I said that got me in here. I was sleeping in my own bed, and woke up in this one, in this place within a black void. There was a small cage with a hamster in here, as weird as it sounds. It was the only company I had since I got here. Silly thing used to run around every time I let it out. It didn’t eat or drink, either. At some point, it just died. Threw it down into the blackness below, though maybe I shouldn’t have done that. How I envied it so much. It was finally free from all of this. The black starless sky, the noises from below, that taunting light from afar. Every single day, waking up to the same routine: looking at these walls and talking to myself. Writing nonsense on paper scattered about, while looking at the sharp pencil as if it was a very dear friend. I tried to take myself with that pencil. Bled out for hours, hurt like hell. But it just doesn’t want to let me go. Just when I thought I could finally die, I wake up again in the same room. The same room, same walls, same things in it. The same blackness in the sky and bellow, the same noises. They aren’t ghosts, those things down there. They’re not alive, either.

I don’t know how long it has been now. Time escapes my hands, never letting me take control. My body and mind age, imprisoned in an endless loop.

But somehow, for some reason, I can’t die. Even if I want to.

© Copyright 2018 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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