I am trapped in this excruciating position, this impossible demand.
My legs ache, my wrists ache, my whole body aches.
The fear is a cold, paralyzing thing inside me. Tightening its grip with every shock, every tremor, every failed attempt to obey.
I don’t know how much longer I can stand.
I don’t know how much longer I can take this endless cycle of failing and being punished.
And all the while he just stands there, watching, waiting, his expression a mask of cruel triumph. He doesn’t seem to know when this will end, or maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe for him, this is just another game, another way to break me.
I am just a trembling, naked shell, a broken thing waiting to be shattered again.
The horror is endless.
The fear is absolute.
I don’t know when, or if, this will ever stop.
My bones are treacherous things right now.
Every single one of them feels like it’s been turned to sand and packed back together with a faulty glue that just won’t stick.
They ache with a low, grinding vibration that starts deep in my pelvis and seems to radiate outwards, settling in my shoulders, my jaw, the very marrow of my being.
It’s a constant, companionable ache, and the unwelcome soundtrack to my existence.
Another day has stretched endlessly, another torture session disguised as work. Forcing me to stand, to fold, tobestill in ways my body wasn’t built for, let alone wanted to be. Spending hours upon hours maintaining the same posture until my muscles weren’t just tired, they were rebelling in a silent, furious protest that echoes the fear clawing at my insides.
And now it’s done, now it is night and I can move, can walk, can do anything but the one thing I so desperately need to.
Exhaustion is usually a heavy blanket, thick and comforting, at least it was when my old cage was one of white walls and a constant camera. But this isn’t that kind of exhaustion. This is a buzz-saw of fatigue, a relentless demand that my body just… give up.
My eyelids feel like lead weights, glued shut by sheer depletion but sleep is the enemy; a forbidden luxury to me.
The rules are clear, etched into the fabric of this nightmare;Stay awake. You are not permitted sleep.
It’s been days. Days of twisted torture when the sun is up and then something else, something far more insidious when it goes down.
My eyes feel like sandpaper, gritty and unwilling to obey. I try to force them open, to assess the room, to confirm I’m alone, but the effort is monumental. The air smells stale, thick with the scent of damp perspiration and old, dried-up piss.
Ineedsleep.
The word echoes in my head, a siren song I cannot indulge.
My body is screaming for it, collapsing under the weight of its own demands.
But my mind is a fortress, built on fear and reinforced by the sheer terror of the last time I closed my eyes. The memory isn’t a single image; it’s a kaleidoscope of sounds and sensations I actively suppress.
A shudder runs through me. I can see it. I can see him, standing over me, with that thing in his hand and I can’t get away, I can’t…
A sound tears through everything; it rips me from the briefest moment of terror filled sleep.
A high-pitched, ragged scream echoes off the bare walls.
My eyes fly open, not by choice, but by a force more primal than exhaustion.
And then the collar, the metal he locked around my neck goes off. That same awful electricity shoots through my body, punishing me for my disobedience.
