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Bite The Hand That Feeds You
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Another day in my cell, but today is the last day. Slowly I have etched at the side of my cage scratching away layer after dust thin layer of the dark gray stone that makes up the walls of my cell. A thousand times or more I have scraped at the walls of my cell until blood not only leaked but flowed from my finger tips, even the bone beneath has been shaped by this process growing long and pointed until my finger tips have grown spear like. But the walls of my cell shows evidence of my efforts as well, a large cavity just to the side of the rusted iron lock set in the heavy metal door. This cavity has grown and grown until now, finally just one last shove and I will be free.
My only contact with the outside world comes from a small sliding pane located at the top of the heavy iron door. Anymore I have no visitors but the hand that feeds me, even before their was little else but study, the same hand that now brings only dead human blood, used to bring watchful eyes staring at me for hours, a mumbling mouth speaking only to itself, making observations and jotting down notes on a clipboard about the progress of my teeth or my eyes. I would often be tested the cage filled with water or bright lights, sometimes constant noise was given me as a companion, loud screeching until my ears cracked and bled leaving me deaf until the sound ceased.
I have been housed in this cage since I was a small child. My family had been taken from me by one of the great plagues that swept through Europe leaving me an orphan. When my future captor found me I was living in a hovel surviving off of scraps of edible garbage and alms I was able to beg from the more prosperous. He took me into his home fed me and washed my flesh. I thought He was my salvation, but in truth he was the devil that thrust me into hell. After the bath he led me down a dark corridor which descended down into the bowels of his home, the deeper we went into the earth the darker and more dungeon like the atmosphere became. We continued down the stairs until we arrived into a dark dank room that seemed to be carved out of stone deep within the earth. There were only two features in this room the first a large Iron door, ( my future home) second a strange man strapped to the wall by shining silver chains. The strange man spat and cursed through long sharp teeth as he strained at his chains with a look of confusion that the links would not snap at the sheer force of his struggles.
At the sight of all this my heart filled with dread, and I tuned to flee. My captive however guessing my intentions grasped me by the shoulders and thrust me up against the wall. He than proceeded to chain me to the wall after a similar fashion as that of the old man albeit a little lower on the wall. After this he brought out a large stone basin which he placed below my manacled feet. Than after producing a large shaving razor from the pockets of his robe, he slit the veins in my ankles releasing a great quantity of blood into the stone basin below. My life’s blood began leaking from my body as my soul seemed to slip from my grasp. Moments from my death, however, my captor brought out a long length of strange tubing, which seemed to have a sharp needle at both ends and some sort of strange bulb or bubble in the center Taking one end of this large tubing he carefully inserted it into the thigh of the strange man hanging from the wall, quickly filling that side of the tubing with a dark almost blackish looking blood. After this had occurred, he took the other end of the tubing and pierced a large vein in my neck. By means of squeezing the bulb in the center of the tubing repeatedly, he began to transfer the dark oily blood into my frame, thereby somewhat restoring me to life. This process, however, proved too much for my young mind, and I quickly lost consciousness.
When I awoke I was in this cell with the door that never opens. All that is behind me now, as I await my creators approach. I can hear him approach, those hated, those longed for foot steps. His steps have grown slow and irregular. The steps have also acquired a sort of click-clack sound, which I assume to be the sound of a cane striking the dungeon floor. The hand that feeds me has wrinkled with age; it shakes with strain as it reaches through the iron slat. I have grown stronger and smarter with every passing day; honing my hands into sharp daggers in anticipation of this day.
It won't be long now. I can hear my creator's approach growing louder click-clack, click-clack. I can hear the cane striking the dungeon floor. Soon I will have my revenge; soon I will have my first warm meal. Click-clack, I can barely hear his approach over the roaring in my ears. Click-clack, in anticipation I think of how many times I have scratched my fingers to the bone waiting for this moment tearing through the stone and sharpening my jagged nails. Click-clack, my creator arrives, standing just before the door. The Iron slat screeches in its track and the hand that feeds me reaches through the door. Knocking the bowl aside I pierce through the hand that feeds me with long sharp teeth, while crashing into the wall and through the door, into the bright white, hot can[/font]dle light of freedom[/font]
Another day in my cell, but today is the last day. Slowly I have etched at the side of my cage scratching away layer after dust thin layer of the dark gray stone that makes up the walls of my cell. A thousand times or more I have scraped at the walls of my cell until blood not only leaked but flowed from my finger tips, even the bone beneath has been shaped by this process growing long and pointed until my finger tips have grown spear like. But the walls of my cell shows evidence of my efforts as well, a large cavity just to the side of the rusted iron lock set in the heavy metal door. This cavity has grown and grown until now, finally just one last shove and I will be free.
My only contact with the outside world comes from a small sliding pane located at the top of the heavy iron door. Anymore I have no visitors but the hand that feeds me, even before their was little else but study, the same hand that now brings only dead human blood, used to bring watchful eyes staring at me for hours, a mumbling mouth speaking only to itself, making observations and jotting down notes on a clipboard about the progress of my teeth or my eyes. I would often be tested the cage filled with water or bright lights, sometimes constant noise was given me as a companion, loud screeching until my ears cracked and bled leaving me deaf until the sound ceased.
I have been housed in this cage since I was a small child. My family had been taken from me by one of the great plagues that swept through Europe leaving me an orphan. When my future captor found me I was living in a hovel surviving off of scraps of edible garbage and alms I was able to beg from the more prosperous. He took me into his home fed me and washed my flesh. I thought He was my salvation, but in truth he was the devil that thrust me into hell. After the bath he led me down a dark corridor which descended down into the bowels of his home, the deeper we went into the earth the darker and more dungeon like the atmosphere became. We continued down the stairs until we arrived into a dark dank room that seemed to be carved out of stone deep within the earth. There were only two features in this room the first a large Iron door, ( my future home) second a strange man strapped to the wall by shining silver chains. The strange man spat and cursed through long sharp teeth as he strained at his chains with a look of confusion that the links would not snap at the sheer force of his struggles.
At the sight of all this my heart filled with dread, and I tuned to flee. My captive however guessing my intentions grasped me by the shoulders and thrust me up against the wall. He than proceeded to chain me to the wall after a similar fashion as that of the old man albeit a little lower on the wall. After this he brought out a large stone basin which he placed below my manacled feet. Than after producing a large shaving razor from the pockets of his robe, he slit the veins in my ankles releasing a great quantity of blood into the stone basin below. My life’s blood began leaking from my body as my soul seemed to slip from my grasp. Moments from my death, however, my captor brought out a long length of strange tubing, which seemed to have a sharp needle at both ends and some sort of strange bulb or bubble in the center Taking one end of this large tubing he carefully inserted it into the thigh of the strange man hanging from the wall, quickly filling that side of the tubing with a dark almost blackish looking blood. After this had occurred, he took the other end of the tubing and pierced a large vein in my neck. By means of squeezing the bulb in the center of the tubing repeatedly, he began to transfer the dark oily blood into my frame, thereby somewhat restoring me to life. This process, however, proved too much for my young mind, and I quickly lost consciousness.
When I awoke I was in this cell with the door that never opens. All that is behind me now, as I await my creators approach. I can hear him approach, those hated, those longed for foot steps. His steps have grown slow and irregular. The steps have also acquired a sort of click-clack sound, which I assume to be the sound of a cane striking the dungeon floor. The hand that feeds me has wrinkled with age; it shakes with strain as it reaches through the iron slat. I have grown stronger and smarter with every passing day; honing my hands into sharp daggers in anticipation of this day.
It won't be long now. I can hear my creator's approach growing louder click-clack, click-clack. I can hear the cane striking the dungeon floor. Soon I will have my revenge; soon I will have my first warm meal. Click-clack, I can barely hear his approach over the roaring in my ears. Click-clack, in anticipation I think of how many times I have scratched my fingers to the bone waiting for this moment tearing through the stone and sharpening my jagged nails. Click-clack, my creator arrives, standing just before the door. The Iron slat screeches in its track and the hand that feeds me reaches through the door. Knocking the bowl aside I pierce through the hand that feeds me with long sharp teeth, while crashing into the wall and through the door, into the bright white, hot can[/font]dle light of freedom[/font]
Published 22nd May 2012
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