That fucking bastard.
I hope he chokes on his food.
I hope he dies in his sleep or falls down and cracks his head open.
I smack my head to silence it. If he dies, then I really will be stuck down here. At least I have a slight chance that he’ll come back.
What if he’s already dead?
I jump to my feet and start beating my fists on the wood that makes up my walls. I don’t understand how my vocal cords haven’t started bleeding with the amount I’ve been screaming.
My fists smash into the wood as my voice cracks from my wails. I keep going until no sound comes out. Another nail cracks in my fit, and I stare down at the gel tip.
Down to 6.
I kick the wall hard in my rage. Hearing a crack and feeling a sharp pain run up my leg. Limping back to my bed, I grab my water and drink the last gulp.
209 Mississippi.
210 Mississippi.
211 Mississippi.
My numbers have become my friends. I’ve realized that pain and numbers won’t leave me alone. The lights are on right now, and my mouth is as dry as sand. I smack my lips trying to get some spit to form. My legs ache from sitting in the dirt as I dig my hole for something to do.
I’ve stopped trying to keep track of how long I’ve been here. There’s no point. Time doesn’t exist here. All that exists are the walls, my cot, numbers and pain. Also, the beeping that wakes me up.
I’m bored with digging now, and I run my hands through my tangled mop on my head. My fingers run over a few of the bald spots from the last time I touched it.
I wind a strand around my finger, curling it until the strand pulls taunt and I give it a sharp tug. The clump rips free, sending pain shootingthrough my head. I grab another piece and repeat my process.
Only when I have a handful of hair do I pull my hair back and look at my collection. My red curls form a tumbleweed in my hand. I run my other hand up and rub the new spot. Blood sticks to my fingers, and a small smile spreads on my face.
I never liked pain, but now I welcome it, it grounds me, reminds me I’m alive.
I hate him so much, but I pray he’ll come see me. I’m so thirsty that I’ll suck his dick just to drink his cum. That will soothe my dry throat.
Bringing my hand to my lips, I pop the ball of hair into my mouth. The strands stick in between my teeth, as the sludgy oil coated bush rolls over my tongue. It tastes like hay that's been shit on by a mountain goat.
Can humans get hairballs?
Pets get hairballs.
Maybe he was right.
I am a pet.
I swallow the mushy mass and it catches in my throat. My body heaves with a gag and I spit it up.
Ha!
Hairball.
Beep.
756 Mississippi.
Beep.
