Dreams can be of many types- it can take you to places you have never imagined, it can dive into your subconscious and manifest in the form of your deepest repressed desires, or it could simply behold to you mories that you try to suppress with every thread of your being. It reveals to you the essence of your existence.
My dreams don't reflect places that I have never seen. They don't reveal my deepest repressed desires. Instead, they replay my past; in painful detail, I relive my tornt.
The passions I had felt, the pain of being abandoned, the pain of having to turn on people who you were surviving with. These monts co back in stark clarity.
I rember the ti I had woken up, eyes bleary, throat aching from dryness. Terror gripped as mories flooded back to . The pool of blood under my mother's body, the sound of violent stabbing, and the regret I felt for having abandoned my family when I should have run out and tried to protect them.
In my dream, I revisited the dreary grey room, a mammoth structure which lood over its prisoners. The sounds of the rattling chain, the wails, and groans of the others littered all over the vast room ca back to .
As my eyes adjusted to the dim lights, I squeaked out a protest. The room seed to co alive, with low murmurs and pleas for help. I realized where I was, what I had turned onto. From that day on, I would not be treated as human, just a pig ready to be slaughtered at their owner's pleasure. And this room was the pen, the pen where all Alice's toys were promptly set up and left for her to return to when she was bored.
And she was bored often.
There were infants.
There were elderly couples locked up together, sitting in uncomfortable chairs.
There were toddlers.
There were high schoolers.
White collar workers.
Businesswon.
There was no pattern to her choice. They ca and they went.
No, that was not the best way to put the situation.
There were people brought in before I arrived, but they didn't last very long. There were those that ca after , but they, too, didn't last very long. Though ti was ungraspable in captivity, it felt like an eternity had passed since I had other people in the room with . It was a strange sense of comfort.
Alice allowed to speak to them, she praised for how caring and gentle I was. She made reassure them that everything would be alright, that they would get out of that hellhole very soon, but I was never able to answer their questions.
"How long have you been here?" a ten-year-old girl had asked. I had not had the chance to ask for her na. She had not the mind to ask for mine. As she cried for her parents, I rember telling her that soone will find us, and her question baffled .
How long had I been there? It could have been re days. It could have been years, for all I knew and her questioned lay with trepidation.
'You were here before . Why haven't they found you yet?'
And it was true. There was no one to search for . No one remained in this world that would actually care about . But this girl had been taken from her ho as she was coming back from school, sothing Alice had ticulously planned out. And chance was on her side.
"Because I had to be here for you," I told her sluggishly. The conversation dragged on, with her telling that she wanted to be a veterinary doctor, how much she loved her pet hamster and that her father was the best one in the world. I smiled through it, encouraging her to speak, to forget the fear.
I could do nothing more to help her.
Alice grew bored with the girl very soon. Apparently, she was too noisy. She started taking pieces of her soon. Thank god she used sedatives on the child. I cannot imagine such a sweet girl having to go through such excruciating pain.
This was the third death I had seen since Alice brought there. I felt glad for them, that their suffering had stopped.
I wondered what it would feel like to be dead. It would be more peaceful, I imagined, but death didn't co to .
I soon realized that death ca in a pattern. Alice liked weaving stories, creating images of the tortured family, but she grew bored with playing with the dolls in her dollhouse.
She grew bored when I spoke to them and listened to them confess to their gravest sins and simple facts of their lives. Once she knew who they were, the perfect character she had built in her mind around them shattered. She grew angry at them for disillusioning her. And she sliced them open bit by bit as punishnt. I didn't know what she did with their bodies, but that too soon beca clear to .
She set up a portable kitchen in the room. It was within the eyesight of the people captive in it. She had all the fancy utensils people have in their kitchens. She started sharpening her tools in front of one day.
She had a gleeful smile plastered on her face throughout. It unsettled .
My companion that day was an elderly couple. They seed resigned to their fate. They had spent fifty years married to each other, had kids who had grown up to be distinguished individuals, but they lived alone in a gated community until their abduction.
"The Lord will protect you," the sweet woman told while she was there.
I had understood that speaking to them just lessened their chance of survival. I had not spoken in a while. I didn't rember what food I had been served, but I did rember the tears rolling down my face as I imagined my innocent grandparents being slaughtered. They had lived until a ripe age, they were prepared for death. But what was this ending? What did they deserve to be punished so?
Alice was gentle on them. She killed them with a single blow each.
As they lay limp near , I wondered what had caused her to be so rciful to them.
"Oh, old age. I respect those that live uneventful lives and remain happy," she sighed as she closed in the space between us. "Do you know why I killed them, though?" I refused to answer her.
"Stop being so stubborn," she whined. "You're no fun."
I didn't want to be any fun for her. The more interest she gained in , the harder she tried to break .
She just couldn't find my story; I didn't break character, so she kept .
But I wanted to break character and I had finally decided to do just that.
So I defied her. I fought her to the fullest.
"I'll tell you the answer, anyway," she chirped. "I want to cook you a wonderful al today and I was an ingredient short. Food is a priority, right?" she giggled as she skipped away.
I stared at her back in horror and she approached the couple with a butcher knife.
I couldn't believe my eyes. I couldn't even close them.
I stared and stared.
I scread as I saw her detach limb from limb and place them on a plate she had brought with her. She went on to scrape the at from the bones and clean it out with her hands.
"Don't worry, I will wash the blood off," she told .
But what did that an?
"Rember, Evie. You must cook your al in a sanitary manner."
As she walked back to the portable kitchen I saw her wrap so of her carvings into a box and store it for later.
I rember the distinct sll of her cooking. I rember how she wretched my mouth open and forced forkful of her 'al' into my mouth. I rember the churning of my gut, the stench of puke and the feeling of stickiness on my skin as she made eat every single piece of at she had cooked.
I rember her laughing and telling that I was pretending not to enjoy the unique taste. That I was just like her, a little girl with a big appetite.
I rember her eyes as she glared at when I refused to hold the fork. I rember the feeling of lashes on my back, my thighs, the color of blood soaking through the white shirt she put in ever so often.
I rember shakily taking the spoon and wailing as I tried to stomach it all, as I tried to not be in pain.
I hated the pain.
I really hated it.
I just wanted it to end.
"Please kill ," I begged her one day when I saw her taking out a limb wrapped in plastic.
"What's the fun in that? I want you to try my cooking, I am just learning and I need soone to give tips."
'Why ?' I kept asking myself.
"Now, we will defrost the at and then you will help prepare the ingredients," I rember sobbing as I protested. I rember her slicing at my arm with the knife she was cutting the vegetables with. I rember her mixing salt with water and my eyes widening in horrified anticipation.
The drops felt like death.
I gave in.
She handed the bloodied knife she had hurt with. She made chop carrots and onions with it. I tasted a disgusting tallic tang in the food that day.
And that was only the beginning.
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