Mashed Potatoes
One
He swirled the mashed potatoes around on his plate. He knew they were watching him. They were always watching him. Unwavering, faceless eyes that displayed no empathy towards his desperate situation.
He didn't really feel like eating - he never felt like eating anymore. Briefly glancing at the video cameras, infra-red sensors, and the one-way "mirror" in his room, he took a small bite. He didn't identify the blob of starch in his mouth as mashed potatoes - rather, he viewed it only as something they required to have him ingest. His tastebuds had permanently resigned, for the only thing they had fed him for a very long time was mashed potatoes.
Why couldn't they just let him starve himself to death? He was there without purpose. What did they want with him? A quivering remnant of his rationalizing mind bubbled to the surface, reminding him that he must be there for a reason because, after all, he should have been dead from only eating one food group for who knows how long.
But the thought was quickly suppressed. He knew the consequences of his questioning, his curious gazes and seemingly innocent inquiries. He was punished severely, for what - wanting to know why he could remember next to nothing about the life he presumably had before he was placed in this room? He didn't understand, but he learned to control his curiosity. Otherwise, he would have been long dead.
I might as well be dead. he thought, but quickly regretted it before he even finished thinking it.
"What was that?" The intercom bellowed. He flinched, not used to the loud noise.
He didn't answer. He knew that they knew exactly what he thought. They may have let the first one slide, but if they thought he was getting into one of his rebellious moods - who knows what they could do this time. It was a warning - nothing more. No need to report it to the head just yet.
Mindlessly, he ate the potatoes. Not tasting, not caring, he took bite after bite, staring at the metal table before him. Sleek stainless steel, it looked like to him. He had no idea how he knew of this alloy, but it registered in his mind that it was something from his previous life. Heh. His previous life. It sounded like he was talking about a ghost or something.
Glaring at his own reflection, he felt only contempt for those who forced him to stay here. His once multi-colored mohawk-type hair was now long, greasy and scraggly. His eyes, once alive with passion, were now dull and faded. His skin had sunk deep into the crevices of his skull - it made him look much older than he actually was. A permanent frown and multiple scars marred his otherwise handsome face.
As the fork clunked loudly on his plate, a voice came over the intercom again.
"Sleep." it ordered, shutting off all electricity to the room. Completely alone, he stripped off his uncomfortable pants and t-shirt, thankful that they allowed him such a small luxury. He never really liked sleeping in his clothes, anyway.
Pulling the thin sheet over his head, he tried to become comfortable so that he would fall asleep faster. He didn't want to repeat what had happened only a couple days earlier.
He had wondered how the metal table with his empty plate of food always seemed to disappear during the night and reappear in the morning with more food. He thought that they couldn't possibly detect whether he was asleep or not, so he figured he would just stay up all night and watch the table.
Of course, they knew better than to allow him to see them. Leaving him lying there, eyes straining to use the little light allowed from the cameras to see anything, they decided upon giving him some minor punishment for his rebellious nature. Again.
So he went without 'food' for that morning. And that day, as he tried desperately to keep awake and see what intruder came to bring him more of those distinctly undistinct mashed potatoes.
By finally succumbing to exhaustion, he fell asleep the next night, but not wihout a sharp reprimand from the intercom, "Do not try to outsmart us. You are weak, you are worthless. You deserve to be told what to do. You should be thankful that you are not dead,"
Thinking about his past experiences earned him another startling sound from the intercom. "SLEEP!" it demanded, resounding off the walls and shocking him a bit.
Without further hesitation, he quickly dozed off.
He didn't really feel like eating - he never felt like eating anymore. Briefly glancing at the video cameras, infra-red sensors, and the one-way "mirror" in his room, he took a small bite. He didn't identify the blob of starch in his mouth as mashed potatoes - rather, he viewed it only as something they required to have him ingest. His tastebuds had permanently resigned, for the only thing they had fed him for a very long time was mashed potatoes.
Why couldn't they just let him starve himself to death? He was there without purpose. What did they want with him? A quivering remnant of his rationalizing mind bubbled to the surface, reminding him that he must be there for a reason because, after all, he should have been dead from only eating one food group for who knows how long.
But the thought was quickly suppressed. He knew the consequences of his questioning, his curious gazes and seemingly innocent inquiries. He was punished severely, for what - wanting to know why he could remember next to nothing about the life he presumably had before he was placed in this room? He didn't understand, but he learned to control his curiosity. Otherwise, he would have been long dead.
I might as well be dead. he thought, but quickly regretted it before he even finished thinking it.
"What was that?" The intercom bellowed. He flinched, not used to the loud noise.
He didn't answer. He knew that they knew exactly what he thought. They may have let the first one slide, but if they thought he was getting into one of his rebellious moods - who knows what they could do this time. It was a warning - nothing more. No need to report it to the head just yet.
Mindlessly, he ate the potatoes. Not tasting, not caring, he took bite after bite, staring at the metal table before him. Sleek stainless steel, it looked like to him. He had no idea how he knew of this alloy, but it registered in his mind that it was something from his previous life. Heh. His previous life. It sounded like he was talking about a ghost or something.
Glaring at his own reflection, he felt only contempt for those who forced him to stay here. His once multi-colored mohawk-type hair was now long, greasy and scraggly. His eyes, once alive with passion, were now dull and faded. His skin had sunk deep into the crevices of his skull - it made him look much older than he actually was. A permanent frown and multiple scars marred his otherwise handsome face.
As the fork clunked loudly on his plate, a voice came over the intercom again.
"Sleep." it ordered, shutting off all electricity to the room. Completely alone, he stripped off his uncomfortable pants and t-shirt, thankful that they allowed him such a small luxury. He never really liked sleeping in his clothes, anyway.
Pulling the thin sheet over his head, he tried to become comfortable so that he would fall asleep faster. He didn't want to repeat what had happened only a couple days earlier.
He had wondered how the metal table with his empty plate of food always seemed to disappear during the night and reappear in the morning with more food. He thought that they couldn't possibly detect whether he was asleep or not, so he figured he would just stay up all night and watch the table.
Of course, they knew better than to allow him to see them. Leaving him lying there, eyes straining to use the little light allowed from the cameras to see anything, they decided upon giving him some minor punishment for his rebellious nature. Again.
So he went without 'food' for that morning. And that day, as he tried desperately to keep awake and see what intruder came to bring him more of those distinctly undistinct mashed potatoes.
By finally succumbing to exhaustion, he fell asleep the next night, but not wihout a sharp reprimand from the intercom, "Do not try to outsmart us. You are weak, you are worthless. You deserve to be told what to do. You should be thankful that you are not dead,"
Thinking about his past experiences earned him another startling sound from the intercom. "SLEEP!" it demanded, resounding off the walls and shocking him a bit.
Without further hesitation, he quickly dozed off.