Vesko was never left alone. Not for one second. Not ever since they found him crying in a dumpster as an infant. Not ever since they took him in. Not ever since they poisoned him. Not ever since they shoved all their lies down his throat, claiming it to be truth. Not ever since he was Colonel. Not ever since... He sat on a lone chair in a bare white room, clutching his head. The walls were high, and white, white, white. His black hair and sunken brown eyes seemed to be the only hints of color in the place. They were going to whisper again. They were going to shove empty words down his throat again. He'd always cough blood because of it. To be a Colonel, they said, you have to go through this. You have to be able to kill. You have to be able to lie. To keep your mouth shut. Security cameras hung from every corner, from every wall. Left, right, back, forth, under his feet, over his head, in front of his eyes, behind his head. He couldn't hide. He couldn't cry. He couldn't move. Twelve hours of torture until he returned on duty. Why? Because he had to keep his head. They had to monitor him. They had to cleanse him. Because they couldn't let the lies of the outside world get into the heart of their child. No, only their lies. A false child. A parent-less child. Vesko wasn't anybody special. Nobody cared about him. Why, he didn't even care about himself. Bone thin and cold. Pale and dark-eyed. The cameras zoomed in. They came from every direction, stealing his warmth. Vesko shivered uncontrollably. Here comes the spoon to feed him. Here comes the words, the lies. He would only be able to repeat what they told him. He had no voice of his own. Be grateful, child, be grateful. You were in a dumpster, trash. Nobody wanted you. Nobody wants you still. Why, you don't even want yourself. He couldn't hide. He couldn't cry. He couldn't move. Twelve hours. It would only be twelve hours... He could take it. He's been doing it for thirty years. He could take it.
~~
The room was white and bare. A single empty chair was in the center of the room. Security cameras were perched on every wall, every corner. They stared and listened. Listened and stared. A thick trail of smeared blood was the only hint of color in the place. Cause of death unknown. Oh well. Nothing major. Happens every week. Spoon simply must have gone too far down again.
I just-
ReplyDeleteWhat kind of magical spells do your pencil and paper have? Why is this so creepy? Why has this turned "creepy" into "fantastic"? No words can describe how wonderfully written this is. The power of this piece made me lose all my words, gosh.
ReplyDeleteCan I just say that I LOVE how you repeated "not ever" up there? It's so effective you know? The descriptions of the bland room in contrast to Vesko's hair and eyes gives it a real punch! Moreover, the way you've described the cameras from every angle, watching and waiting, makes me feel as if I'm in his shoes! And all the pretty, short sentences. ;-;
That last bit is SO emotional though? The implication of his sad death... it's just heart-breaking! And the fact that they didn't even care! ;-; "Spoon simply must have gone too far down again"... the ambiguous aspects of this piece of writing create really eerie and emotional feelings! It has such a huge impact! Gosh so good, so gooood!! <3