The World is Ugly

Everybody has something bad happen to them at some point in their life, it doesn't matter who you are, stuff happens. Some situations are worse than others. My situation on the other hand, awful, horrid, un-thinkable even. I didn't chose this and every single day that goes by I think about what I could have done differently to avoid this madness. The inhumanity. The darkness. I've tried escaping before, I was so close, went through so much pain only to be tortured with the memory of that old, scratchy rope squeezing my neck only by the weight of my dead body weight. Body weight that led to my misfortune of the rope snapping and landing me 6 months longer in this fucking place. 6 Months and counting.
Not for a second did I re-consider the choice to end my own life. Literally anything, anyplace, anywhere would be better than this place. Seeing that tunnel of blinding white was the most light I've seen in probably 3 months. I've never actually seen what the room that I stay in looks like in the light. They keep me secluded away from the world, in total chilling darkness. It's always so cold, the concrete ground is frozen beneath my bare, swollen feet. I'm caged in a dark pit and driven crazy by my own mind that can only massacre itself with the only thing it can see, the memories of what my world used to look like.

I'm so hungry. My stomach starves for nourishment, my mind starves for peace, and my soul starves for even a drop of human decency. My shameful, filthy and naked body is curled up into a ball in one of the corners of this tiny pit of a room that I'm forced to die alone in. Everyday that goes by I can feel myself losing my mind more and more. Maybe I am dead, maybe this is hell. It sure as fuck feels like hell. My stomach cries out loudly and makes a gargling sound before slipping back into the reality that I probably won't feed it for another few days. I have contemplated eating myself. That's how hungry I am. Eating a finger could keep me alive, but it could also kill me. I just convince myself somehow to wait until the next feeding day to eat. I have so much time to think, it's scary. It's dangerous.

Out of nowhere I am ripped from my own mind and startled by a loud "CRRREEAKKK!" of a small, rusty hatch that leads out of this room, opening. I don't see any black figure of a person crawling through it, I just hear a quiet, "Get in there!" and before I can even think, I hear small footsteps as someone stumbles their way through the small rusty hatch. The strange person is then shoved aggressively through the hatch when they are halfway through and the door slams loudly behind them. "Frank? is that you?" I hear a familiar, scared voice. A voice that takes me back to the smell of musk and the sweet sound of standard tuning on an acoustic guitar. A simple, yet beautiful life. Its Ray. It's fucking Ray.

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