Ticking. The gentle tinkling sound echoes around the room I have found myself forcibly thrown and locked into. My only saviour now would be an earthquake to shake the walls to pieces or some sort of armada. I've tried everything to get out. Everything. Months of trying every conceivable goddamned idea or notion to get out of this place. Nothing works and freedom eludes my naive and fumbling grasp… so for now at least, I live in darkness.
Feeling along the smooth, gently curving walls for what seems to be the billionth time with worn and rubbed fingertips, leaving trails of blood behind from the blistering holes where my nails used to be. That was before I succumbed to my first bout of destructive madness. Before I began to suck the blood from the wounds in a desperate bid to survive through the all-consuming thirst. The thirst that clawed at my throat with talons of pain and suffering.
Feeling nothing more than the occasional fingernail embedded in the wood and the cool metal cross my master believes takes away the guilt of sin from his shoulders, I sink to the floor. My chest heaving and tears streaming down my cheeks. Wasting what precious little moisture my body has worked so hard to retain. My head feels heavy. I fall into a fitful sleep, but I can’t tell. The darkness is the same even in my dreams.
I wake into the darkness, or do I dream it? I cannot tell the difference anymore. I don't know what's real or what's fake... not that there's any difference because everywhere is hell.
Except in one state... he stares at me. I can feel him staring at me. His eyes burning holes into my body and I can't hide. I can't get away from my master's demonic gaze. I've tried to find him in the dark so I could claw those eyes out. So I could destroy those wretched balls of soft tissue and jelly, so I could dig my thumbs through the sockets and into the soft mush beneath. I would be master then. I would be master…
My short raspy breaths echo faintly around the room, providing the only sound for my deprived ears.
He never makes a sound. I can sense him... he's always here, always watching and I can sense him. My breathing quickens. He's watching me. Behind me... walking toward me... raising his hand... the hand of wrath always punishes bad girls. We must not welcome the devil. Not listening to master means we get punished.
The room is dark. The cross is above me. Master doesn't know but my thumbnails were stronger than the rest. It was easier to get the glue looser and looser that way. First I had to eat away the little lumps of flesh though. I wasn't as hungry after that... Master doesn't know that the cross was also hung with a nail. I used it. I shaved away slowly, slowly tiny threads of metal. Each scrape got me closer to now. The cross is sharp and pointy and heavy.
I can hear him. He's breathing heavy like he always does when he's excited. When he forces himself on me. He's getting closer.
I slide my hand over the cool surface of the cross.
I feel him right behind me... standing behind me. I grip the cross.
Lord Jesus hear my prayer... let me go free... let me kill him... let me taste his blood... Amen.
He touches me. I swing around and plunge the pointy end into his chest. I can feel the blood flowing from the wound and over my fingers. It’s warm and sticky, and I laugh.
I can see light. I can see Jesus' face on the cross... and he's looking at me.
He's... looking at me...
Lord God hear my prayer... allow me to vanquish those who stare... grant me my wish father... Amen.
I turn to the cross. He's still staring at me. No more staring. No. More. Staring.
I look him in the carved eye. No longer will you stare. And the metal is once again flooded in red. Plunged into my heart as it beats erratically and spews blood onto my hands and body.
"HE'S ALWAYS WATCHING... THERE IS NO ESCAPE... THEY WILL ALWAYS WATCH!" I scream as pain wracks at every fibre of my being.
As my vision fades and my heart stops I hear a voice saying:
“You have your answer.”