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Sep 2018
Time passes slowly
But it begins to fade,
As dreams often do
But I knew
Even then
That I was not having a dream

I remember the light yellow shade
Of the cold brick walls, matching
Fittingly to the slowly inward
Sloping cement floor.
Two pads on the right side of the floor.
A small rectangular with bars across it, seven or so feet up from the floor, directly in front of me as I entered the
Room; a cold steer door slamming shut as I turn around seeing the key
Turn the lock, click.
Before I could sit down or contemplate
The situation, dinner, a baogna sandwich with a cup of water was
Served on a white foam plate.

About an hour passes.
I pace back and forth,
Thinking of the trouble I'm in,
Worried about my wife.
I sit on one of the **** pads,
Wishing I was sleepy.
Things began moving.

It came on like a drug.
Little trickles
Patterns in the wall, becoming
Little communities filled with
Activity and life,
Then death came upon me.

Twisted and depraved
The darkest desperation my soul
Has ever known
I was broken down by terror
My heart shattered and replaced by
An unending black hole

Where am I?
Are my parents going to get me out of this place? Where am I...?
Looking out my little square window to the world, a reddish tinted plastic
Separated me from the rest of the world.
Distorted faces
Some smiling devilishly
Some ordinary
Some, I began to recognize.

Voices, talking in the room to the left
A football game on TV and people laughing, carrying on..
My dad hates football.
I hear his voice mixed in with the others. Where am I? Is this some kind of privately owned jail? Is this someone's house?

They're talking about me. It sounds like they're friends, but the guy who seems to be in charge sounds like a ****. Looking out the window, I see family and friends looking in on me. Suddenly, I sense they're in danger.

Hurry back to the wall on my right
Ear pressed to the cold wall
The conversation is turning sour
My dad sounds frustrated, the warden
Sounds nervous and annoyed.
He doesn't want to let me go.
Something about power..
Something about quote "swinging his **** around to remind people who's in charge.
A gun shot
I have to get out of here now
I don't know who's hurt
But it's a fifty percent chance it's my father who was shot
I was desperate to get out
Beating and clawing at the door
This isn't right! What are you people doing to me? This is wrong..
I remember screaming this is wrong.

Looking out the window, I realize my family is trying to free me. They're outside, in some sort of garage area half open to the outside. I try to direct some of them where to go, where to hide. An ar-15 rifle appears in the back window. I need it, maybe I can shoot through the lock, but it's no use.

My ear to the wall
I hear sadism being planned
The warden and his family? Who are these people? The woman says she wants to be the one to **** the blabber mouth, talking about me. Terrified, followed by horror as I hear them planning out the torture and ****** of my family members in front of me before finally killing me.

Trying trying feverishly
To take apart that lock
How did I find this metal?
A zipper?
Doesn't matter is a tool. Some of the lock is actually coming apart. I look out the window and people are trying to help me open it!
And then they were gone,
Replaced by a man staring at me through a rifle scope, grinning ear to ear. Three men appear, holding my dad captive. He's hurt but alive. Suddenly the blonde curly haired greasy redneck nearest him violently
Pulls his hair back and shoves his tounge down my father's throat. I go absolutely insane, striking and kicking the door with all my might, destroying my knuckles, leaving small dents in the door. Two guards bust in and threaten to beat me and restrain me if I don't stop damaging their $5000 door. I thought they were there to **** me. I said nothing. Time passes.

Waves of violent rage
Absolute terror
And the deepest coldest place in the universe. Cold. I am alone. Whatever they gave me had shifted gears. My ear to the wall one last time.
Is that someone drowning?
My father being tortured again
Water boarding. " Just put the bullet to me"
No more sound
No more visions
Only basic human desperation
I begin digging the piece of metal into my arm, holding it up for the camera to see. Cut after cut. Noone ever comes. Bloodied, hurt, and exaughsted, I collapse and pass out.

My eyes open and the room is clean. The lock is repaired and I'm neatly in the corner on a pad. Totally confused, I was reintroduced to the general population. Talking crazy, I believed everything I had hallucinated was real.
The cops keep me for another day, thinking I had a psychotic break
But it just doesn't feel that way. Not in my heart, and surely not in my gut.
I never see the health care professional I was promised.
Please guilty to the judge so I can go home. What difference does it make?
I'm broken. Everything is broken.
Written by
Matthew  35/M/Down south
(35/M/Down south)   
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