Monday, 19 September 2011


The clock on the wall shows midnight as the laden gurney is wheeled down the sterile white and grey corridors. The stark lighting drains what ever warmth these sickly halls may have once held. Screams echo down the passage way as the man strapped to the trolley struggles to break his bonds, his bandaged wrists pull against the leather straps. His level of desperation is conveyed with each new bone chilling cry he lets out. As blood starts to seep through the white cloth bound to his forearms, the largest of the orderlies pins the mans arms to his side, another places one large hand on the mans chest and forces his arching back down onto the padded cart. The mans already panicked face contorts further and he cries out 'No' at the top of his lungs as he is wheeled towards his new quarters.

Their not taking me again, Christ! Please. The lights in the ceiling above flash in my eyes and my mind races towards a sickening madness. A fever pitch. I cannot take this again, not again. I feel them coming every time. My skin feels like I have worms crawling beneath it when ever the time draws near. The lights above assault my mind like fists of cold ice. Each one piercing the mental barriers I place between myself and my unbearable memories, my terrifying reality. Images rise up before me, blinding lights, metallic sounds. But it is the feelings I remember most vividly, memories that plunge me into the depths of blood curdling lunacy. Feelings of cold metal in my mouth, chipping, carving. The pressure in my head is incomprehensible. Why will no one listen? I am screaming out for help but they don't hear me. I scream out 'no', I might as well be speaking another language as they fit the jacket and wheel me into my cell. The locks click and I am left to scream into the darkness. I scream because I know, the locks wont keep them out.

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