by Robert Blevins

Created on: September 23, 2009

I was keeping track of the days for a while but they found the pencil stub hidden under my mattress. I discovered it lying unnoticed in a pocket of my jumpsuit. Stupid of me to keep it under the mattress, though. I should have known better. They scrubbed off the calendar I made on the wall. You really have to give them an 'A' for persistence.

I try to keep mental notes, but they keep me alone in this damned cell. Nothing but questions. Each time they take me out I want to leap across the table and break their necks; maybe make a run for it.

It wouldn't work, of course. They always handcuff me to the chair.

I'm locked in a cell about ten meters square without a window.

I have to hang on to the sanity I have left. It's becoming harder all the time.

I'm sitting on a steel bed with a thin mattress. I keep a cotton blanket wrapped around myself for company.

They'll be back soon to ask their ridiculous questions. Thinking about it makes my brain hurt. 'I have a family, boys'...I tell them. 'I want to go home.'

"You've had an accident," is all they say. I want to choke the life out of the first one I can reach. Smart guys, though. They leave no openings for escape. They record everything and scribble notes like madmen...no...I cannot think about it. I'll catch another headache.

Catch a headache. That's funny. I squeeze my temples tightly to shut out the thoughts.

They watch every move I make. I'm not stupid, you know.

The big box above the door obviously has a camera. They did not even try to hide it. Talk about stupid.

I'm tired of questions.

I have to check back into the Reality Hotel somehow.

'Bellboy, can you take my bags to the top floor? Best room in the house!'

'Certainly, sir!'

'Let's hop to it, then!'

'At once, sir!' The bellboy snatches my bags with a grin.

Not a chance in hell.

Push those temples harder! Squeeze your head together until your skull fractures!

It's time to go home, and I mean now.

'No!'

Watch it! If I shout, they drop the steel flap in the door and stare at me for a few seconds. Check the monkey. Check on the monkey. Shall I dance for you, or sing perhaps?

When I first arrived, I used to cuss a blue streak at anyone I saw. Only once did I get a reaction; a look from one of my guards resembling, well...pity.

I never saw him again.

He was caught showing emotion to the monkey and replaced. These guys don't miss a thing.

One thing I can't fathom is why they ask the stupidest questions. Who were my parents? My grandparents?

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