LJ Idol: Week 1
Clinking and rattling of metal chains broke the stagnant and suffocating stillness. It was the only sound of movement, the only sound that made sense in the consuming black pitch. The childhood fear of shadows died a long time ago. The only feelings, now, were unrelenting despair and irreparable brokenness.
The woman hung from the ceiling, swaying back and forth, the illusion of a child being rocked to sleep. Chains, like arms, wrapped around her, holding her tight, holding her close. Movement was impossible without pain, so she didn’t struggle, not this time, for her limbs were crushed to her body, a macabre cocoon. No one came. There was only the subtle rocking back and forth and the sound of her imprisonment. Mental doors were shut tight and locked. There was no going forward or backward. There was no help. There was merely existing yet not existing. It brought its own madness when she was a bit more conscious and aware. But what was the point? It hurt, everything hurt. The grinding of gears inside her head turned every so often, the electricity that proved that there was still life, that there was still a small inch of hope. And yet, why?
She opened her eyes to the blindness around her, a bizarre feeling that she got used to over time. It felt like she was opening her eyes while they were still closed. Why open them at all? There was nothing to see. Nothing to sense or try to make out. Her limbs were bound to her at purposefully odd angles. Fingers twitched midst the chain links. She moved her hand next and was reminded of how bound she was. A pain ground through her wrist, an aggravating ache that she’d have to live with for a while now. If that was going to hurt, may as well …
Blinking to keep more alert, she moved the fingers of her other hand, followed by her toes. That was always the start. But her wrists and ankles would begin to burn. There it was again -- a spark, the annoying little thing. It was that small inch again, reminding her of hope, of life and the reasons why it ought to be preserved. Even now? Of course, it always assured. It’s difficult, it’s painful, it’s so changed! The body can mend itself. Stitch up your mind and hold your breath. Dive into your struggles. There is no strength without it. It brings pain but freedom lies on the other side. Pursue it!
A crack broke the stillness, followed by a muffled, anguished cry.
The woman hung from the ceiling, swaying back and forth, the illusion of a child being rocked to sleep. Chains, like arms, wrapped around her, holding her tight, holding her close. Movement was impossible without pain, so she didn’t struggle, not this time, for her limbs were crushed to her body, a macabre cocoon. No one came. There was only the subtle rocking back and forth and the sound of her imprisonment. Mental doors were shut tight and locked. There was no going forward or backward. There was no help. There was merely existing yet not existing. It brought its own madness when she was a bit more conscious and aware. But what was the point? It hurt, everything hurt. The grinding of gears inside her head turned every so often, the electricity that proved that there was still life, that there was still a small inch of hope. And yet, why?
She opened her eyes to the blindness around her, a bizarre feeling that she got used to over time. It felt like she was opening her eyes while they were still closed. Why open them at all? There was nothing to see. Nothing to sense or try to make out. Her limbs were bound to her at purposefully odd angles. Fingers twitched midst the chain links. She moved her hand next and was reminded of how bound she was. A pain ground through her wrist, an aggravating ache that she’d have to live with for a while now. If that was going to hurt, may as well …
Blinking to keep more alert, she moved the fingers of her other hand, followed by her toes. That was always the start. But her wrists and ankles would begin to burn. There it was again -- a spark, the annoying little thing. It was that small inch again, reminding her of hope, of life and the reasons why it ought to be preserved. Even now? Of course, it always assured. It’s difficult, it’s painful, it’s so changed! The body can mend itself. Stitch up your mind and hold your breath. Dive into your struggles. There is no strength without it. It brings pain but freedom lies on the other side. Pursue it!
A crack broke the stillness, followed by a muffled, anguished cry.