[Solitary Confinement]iwasclonedMay 24 2009, 08:46:53 UTC
The sound of the intercom jerked Spider awake. Judging by the grayish mush clinging to his face, he'd been sleeping in his food. Maybe he could use that to write. What was that bloody stuff in his mush?
Ohhhh. That was blood. Right. Write. Riiiight.
But what to write with? The swarming fuckmind of this industry's ... institute's aggressively moronic staff had been thoughtless enough to provide him with no USEFUL utensils. No forks or knives or pens, any of which would have been helpful, and not even for stabbing. Necessarily.
Okay so he needed something thin with a point he could put his blood on and then write with on this unfolded crane and then he would ... do ... something to it. The something part was later. The now part was ...something. Fuck. Every part was the something part. He needed to think of something. And fast.
Spider ran his hand across his head, trying to finger-comb hair he didn't have. Hair. That would work. Hair. BUT HE DID NOT HAVE ANY HAIR. That firey hellbowel of a defective shower had burned it all off! No hair on his head. No hair in his armpits. No hair on his sweatgushing TAINT. No hair anywhere!
...except his eyebrows. In the midst of its heat-addled madness, the diabolic contraption must have felt some spark - that's it, a spark - of compassion. It left him his eyebrows.
The sedatives were less strong now, but there was still enough in his bloodstream that he didn't really feel the hair he plucked. He dabbed at the inside of his mouth with it, checked his fingers - yes, he was still bleeding - and then, as gingerly as he could, he began his short message.
When he was finished, he crouched over the folded note and painstakingly began the process of folding. He didn't get it right the first time. Not by any means. He'd never been much for this Nipponese folding business. The only way he could piece the crane back together was through a mind-numbing process of trial and error. This was especially difficult, as his mind was already numb.
He did get it right finally, and just in time. No sooner had he completed the final fold, when his food-slit slid open. Spider scurried over to the slit and stuck his face against the opening, speaking as rapidly as he could.
"Hello, yes. I am already in trouble, I understand. I have come to the conclusion, in my perfectly just confinement, that I must atone for my other, undiscovered crimes. To that end, I wish to return this stolen article - taken from a purple-haired girl with truly magnificent bosoms prone to calling herself Sheena and pretending to be a ninja - as soon as possible. Since I do not foresee you letting me out of here to complete this mission, I entrust this item - an expertly crafted paper animal that I simply could not keep my grubby hands off of - to you ON THE CONDITION that you return it to its rightful owner as soon as humanly possible. No no! I have heard that your kind transform into hideous beasts at nightfall. Thus I must ask that you return this to its rightful owner as soon as possible for ANY life-form, human or otherwise."
Finally, Spider ceased talking. For a moment, he was unsure as to whether or not there was even anyone outside to listen to him. Then, slowly, an immaculate hand descended from outside his field of vision, and plucked the crane from his outstretched fingers.
"Alright, Mister Ellis. Umm ...Thank you for your honesty. Please pass your bowl through the slit."
Once that was done, and Spider was alone again, he settled down to do some REAL writing.
Ohhhh. That was blood. Right. Write. Riiiight.
But what to write with? The swarming fuckmind of this industry's ... institute's aggressively moronic staff had been thoughtless enough to provide him with no USEFUL utensils. No forks or knives or pens, any of which would have been helpful, and not even for stabbing. Necessarily.
Okay so he needed something thin with a point he could put his blood on and then write with on this unfolded crane and then he would ... do ... something to it. The something part was later. The now part was ...something. Fuck. Every part was the something part. He needed to think of something. And fast.
Spider ran his hand across his head, trying to finger-comb hair he didn't have. Hair. That would work. Hair. BUT HE DID NOT HAVE ANY HAIR. That firey hellbowel of a defective shower had burned it all off! No hair on his head. No hair in his armpits. No hair on his sweatgushing TAINT. No hair anywhere!
...except his eyebrows. In the midst of its heat-addled madness, the diabolic contraption must have felt some spark - that's it, a spark - of compassion. It left him his eyebrows.
The sedatives were less strong now, but there was still enough in his bloodstream that he didn't really feel the hair he plucked. He dabbed at the inside of his mouth with it, checked his fingers - yes, he was still bleeding - and then, as gingerly as he could, he began his short message.
When he was finished, he crouched over the folded note and painstakingly began the process of folding. He didn't get it right the first time. Not by any means. He'd never been much for this Nipponese folding business. The only way he could piece the crane back together was through a mind-numbing process of trial and error. This was especially difficult, as his mind was already numb.
He did get it right finally, and just in time. No sooner had he completed the final fold, when his food-slit slid open. Spider scurried over to the slit and stuck his face against the opening, speaking as rapidly as he could.
"Hello, yes. I am already in trouble, I understand. I have come to the conclusion, in my perfectly just confinement, that I must atone for my other, undiscovered crimes. To that end, I wish to return this stolen article - taken from a purple-haired girl with truly magnificent bosoms prone to calling herself Sheena and pretending to be a ninja - as soon as possible. Since I do not foresee you letting me out of here to complete this mission, I entrust this item - an expertly crafted paper animal that I simply could not keep my grubby hands off of - to you ON THE CONDITION that you return it to its rightful owner as soon as humanly possible. No no! I have heard that your kind transform into hideous beasts at nightfall. Thus I must ask that you return this to its rightful owner as soon as possible for ANY life-form, human or otherwise."
Finally, Spider ceased talking. For a moment, he was unsure as to whether or not there was even anyone outside to listen to him. Then, slowly, an immaculate hand descended from outside his field of vision, and plucked the crane from his outstretched fingers.
"Alright, Mister Ellis. Umm ...Thank you for your honesty. Please pass your bowl through the slit."
Once that was done, and Spider was alone again, he settled down to do some REAL writing.
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