Trapped

I had no idea that I’d gone to sleep until I woke up. I hadn’t been intending on sleeping, and I didn’t even remember trying. Was I really that bored?

I sat up—like I say, I hadn’t been trying to fall asleep, so I’d been lying in a fairly awkward position with my arms behind my head and one leg hanging off the bed. That leg now ached, and so did the insides of my upper arms, as any muscles would do when they had been in a bad position for too long.

How long had I been asleep for then? It obviously wasn’t just ten minutes.

That made me think of food. How long had it been since I ate? It was when I had the bread—my apple was still on the desk. I saw it and my stomach rumbled. I had no idea how long I’d been out for, but if it was several hours, then it must be a good twelve hours or so since I last had any food. I had no idea; I’d long since given up on time.

There was no food waiting by the door. Still. When were they going to bring me more? Was this donation of bread and fruit all that I was going to get? Was it just a trick to lure me into believing they were going to care for me?

Once again, all my questions led up to the great big one: why was I here?

And it was one that I was still absolutely no closer to answering.

I went and perched at the desk, picking up a pencil longingly, and then brushing my fingers over the smooth surface of the apple. I was so...hungry. But they might not bring me any more food for a week for all I knew. I had to make it last.

Reluctantly, but understanding that I had to do something, I wrote the phrase Day Two onto the same piece of paper that already had the heading Day One. I left a single line in between the two titles. Sure, I could count the days. That was allowed, right? I wasn’t actually writing anything of any use.

‘So...hungry,’ I whispered almost absent-mindedly. Talking to myself again.

‘Shut up!’ I snapped, clawing at my bare skin.

‘Stop it,’ I said, considerably more rationally. It was like the two sides of my brain; the impulsive side and the rational side; were locked in a deadly war with one another. Secretly, I hoped that the rational side would win out, because that was the side that would keep me sane, but who could tell?

Almost without noticing I was doing it, I picked up the apple.

My eyes fell on it, and I dropped it as though it was a hot volcanic rock.

I. Was. Not. Going. To. Eat.

‘Have I made that clear yet?’

‘Shut up!’ I exclaimed suddenly, throwing the apple at the wall and clawing at my hair. ‘Stop talking to yourself!’

The anger subsided like the calm after a storm, and the grip on my hair loosened.

What was I turning into?

I felt the tears brimming in my eyes. I tried to force them back in. Once they started, they would be a flood. They would not stop for anything. Keeping my sadness under control was the last hold I had on my sanity. Once that went, everything went. Already, I had proven that I couldn’t be trusted with my anger and my mood swings were unprecedented. Then, I was talking to myself and scratching at my own skin. I didn’t even want to comprehend what I was becoming. I simply could not face it.

I paced. Determined not to write and determined not to eat, I did pretty much the only other thing that I could do; pacing the room. I didn’t want to think, but thought was inevitable as I walked round and round and round the cage. It began to spin, and it reached the point that even if I was blindfolded I could have walked the exact circle that I had re-traced so many times without straying once from the footsteps that I had made so often. In fact, I was surprised that there weren’t slight dents made in the ground from where I had placed my feet so many times.

I caught sight of the apple again once I finally stopped. I must have been pacing the same circle for at least an hour now, trying and failing to keep certain thoughts out of my mind. I had to eat it...I was so hungry. Just one bite...just one bite...

‘No,’ I whispered, but the rational side of my brain was slowly losing conviction.

‘Just one bite,’ I argued with myself. ‘Please, just one bite.’

‘No,’ I replied, but I was growing weaker against the strong surge of impulse that was overpowering me.

I hovered, barely a foot from the apple’s temptation.

‘Please?’ I asked in desperation.