Freedom

Typing quickly, excuse any spelling mistakes. I don't have time to even carefully word myself as I usually do, but I wanted to informed you all, I'm free, I'm free, I'm free...

I want to sob happily.
In truth, I've been free for about a month or so now. I've neglected to keep track of time and failed to think about this blog at all...

Currently, I am in a library typing this up. I've been on the run for the duration of my freedom, switching locations and riding the bus to someplace new every week. On my person, I hold the bag my 'savior' gifted me...
I don't know why they saved me, but they did and that's all that matters. If only I had gotten their name... Or got to see their face. They hid themselves under a strange mask and the only words I got out of them was when I asked them why, why save me?

"You will find out in time, mistress."

That's all. Then they handed me a blue draw-string bag, and took off...

Inside was $1000 worth of U.S currency, a new set of clothes, sneakers, and a note that said "Run."

And running I've been since.
I've used the money sparingly for hotels, getting simple jobs to keep myself fed, and transportation. I don't know how long I can keep this up, but nobody from that hell has found me yet.

This really must be the land of the free.

Now I must go, my next job is soon.

My Posts and Nightmare

Have gone missing. Not all of them, but some in between things where I've listed as reasons why I loathe this place, mentioned the different teas I've tried (and miss terribly), and then the post about my nightmare.

It's funny. K just shrugged off anything I said about the nightmares, as if it didn't matter. I’d tell her she’s not very good at this 'caring about me’ facade we were playing—but why jinx it anymore?

I thought she might have been the one deleting the posts. I figured maybe ‘Kisaprostitute’ as my old password was a bad idea (which I changed weeks ago, before you try it). I found out others have been stricken by this problem though, so it must be this website.

Either way, I don't want to forget that nightmare (as unlikely as that is), so I'll rewrite it here as best as I can recall:



December 11th, 2011

Last night, I had the dream; the same one that has been haunting me about once a month. 
Not often a dream, always a nightmare.


I start out free from this accursed domain. Sunlight kisses my skin; it tingles. I am wearing my favorite dress. Not the silly dress that K has been cutting inches off of slowly, saying it's unhealthy to want to hide my ankles. (I'm sure she thinks I am like the others and secretly want to slice into my own skin when an opportunity arises).


I’m always covered in dirt, and I can not move. My arms and legs are bound by invisible strings, my eyes staring up at the sky.  The clouds always appear to be taunting me, I think. I’m not sure how to explain it. It is just a feeling I get when I’m drifting into that world.


My heart is still. There was no pounding in my ears, no slight throbbing throughout the body that one normally feels when in rest.


Two men, faces hidden due to the bright sun behind them, walk towards me. I cannot do anything as they place their fingers on my neck, speak in hush voices to each other, and then pick me up. I fear they will use me, defile me, and dump me in the gutter. But no. It doesn’t happen that way. I find myself being exchanged between people, until finally I am rested on a metallic table of some sort.


I'm next to two others, also placed on these tables. One has his chest opened up, his expression peaceful.
He’s dead.


The other is a man in a black suit and red tie, his face gone, the flesh exposed by what I can only assume are horrible burns. He gets up, though. He's not dead.


He struggles and limps towards me, the remains of what should be his face contorting—growing new skin.
I internally struggle and fail to get up, to unleash the screams caught in my throat. He’s getting closer. I want to scream and fight and cry—but I can’t. I am his prisoner; to be tangled and mangled by the one who has no face.


I usually wake up at that point, one way or another kicking myself back to consciousness. Last night I was on the floor in a cold sweat, fighting with my blanket. Somebody was yelling at me to, in their words, "Shut the fuck up!"


The words were ignored yesterday by my still half asleep mind as two of my fingers curled around my wrist, feeling for my heartbeat, for that spark of life that had eluded me in my dreams.

Not Again

Shouting, pleasing, life's elixir left all over the floor to be mopped up by a nurse deprived of luck this shift. The ruckus after classes today was created by two morons attempting to stab one another with spoons sharpened at the ends when eyes were not watching.

This doesn't happen too often, but it's not unheard of inside the closed walls and minds of this prison. Things like this make me remember, and I'd sell my mortal soul for a moment away from the nightmares. A way to wipe clean my memory of events prior to two years ago, to start anew instead of spend my days in this corner of the world where I reside, inhumane and drained of warmth.

But K says it's better to remember everything, no matter how painful. I just nod and pretend it's fine even though she probably wouldn't be saying that if she had experienced the same thing. I can picture it now, Madam K huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth like a child in a thunderstorm.

It's a beautiful thought.

Insanity took over long ago

One should be surprised I had not gone mad from the lack of tea until recently. Such blasphemy. K does not even have a kettle and she is always confused whenever I inquire for low tea in this bland place. I have been making due with coffee overpowered by milk or creamer. She is very pleased I am taking in something, even if it's not the disgusting meat or the hard bread. I can't help it, really. My stomach just not used to such things.

"How are you today, Selina?" 

"How are you today, K?" 

"Selina, I'm the one supposed to be asking the questions here, you know this by now. Have you been eating your meals like you're supposed to? You still haven't gained much weight, sweetie."

"I've been eating, K. Maybe if you let me out more often, to feel the glorious rays of the sun and the luscious grass under my feet, I'd gain more."

"That has nothing to do with it. You shouldn't lie about your intake. The nurses tell me you rarely touch your plates."

"All the food tastes like sand, K. Why should I eat sand? There's nothing beneficial to eating sand."

You agree with me, yes? Why should I be subjected to such food? I would much rather eat manure than the vile pieces of dead animals that always brings promises of revenge and wanting to escape up my throat again later. 

Alas, they are coming back now with more pig slop. Woe is me.  Hopefully I survive this meal to post on this 'blog' again.  

At least this is much better than what I endured before.

-Selina