Journal: Imprisoned

drip drip drip drip drip
The sound of falling droplets was hardly noticeable. In the dark everything looses proportions. After what? A month? Two?
Darkness complete, you concentrate on hearing.
drip drip drip drip drip
Now that I think of it, it starts to annoy me. Not the first time, probably not for the last time. You get used to the cold. After the initial shock, after the first beating, when I woke up
I was already numb. The feet at least. I still wake up whenever my penis touches water,
though I rarely sleep that deep, allowing myself to drop the stance so far. I have to be ready, always awake, so that I might help in my own escape. I know they will be coming after me. "We are marines, we don't leave our own".
I think I wrote it on the wall some days ago, I can't remember. It was something hard, probably coal, that I used to mark the wall with.
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Maybe the water has erased the writing? What if they think I dont want to be rescued? I hope I can find it again, and it was kind of hard to write in the dark. Hungry. Don't they ever get food in this place? "Hello?! Could someone bring me food please?" I seem to remember getting fed a while ago, but it's all so hard keeping days straight. Only with my food do I see light, and then it stings my eyes so bad I cannot see.
The rats know when the guards are coming before I do; they scurry away from the door, usually
crowding me in my corner. I don't really mind. As long as they dont bite. Maybe I should start biting back? Bastards
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I wonder what happened to my team members. Hope they survived. Can't recall our mission, I must have hit my head. I think it was in the jungle somewhere, maybe not. There was a fire...
Im still hairless, maybe it wont grow back. I used to have such long blond hair, now only my beard is getting longer. I guess I'm well fed, since my beard seems to grow pretty fast. It's almost down to my knees already, and I think I.. I don't know. They must be slipping drugs in my food, because my memory is getting worse.
Everything is a blur, I can't keep anything straight.
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How I miss my wife. How beautiful she is, blond hair, blue eyes and a loving smile. I wish I could hold her, stroking her gently. She will understand, she always knew things. She knows I'm alive, and she's directing the search.
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Army boots against stone floor. Don't they sound more like the rubber kind our side uses?
No, I was wrong. Dinner. Or breakfast. I don't know. Maybe these people have ham for lunch?
Could I, should I, ask the guards how the war is going? No, that would be talking too much, maybe they would think I knew things, and then the torture would start again. Already so afraid of puinishment, where is this leading to?
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I woke up to the opening door, the squeaking pulling me back to the harsh reality from
the wonderful embrace of my wife. The guard told me the war is over. I was so happy! Exchanging of POWs should start soon I thought, but then he continued and I understood they were just trying to screw my mind even more. They must have overestimated the drugs, because not even in my confused state of mind could they convince me that ten years had passed, and that the empire is in ruins. I got so mad with the guard for lying to me that I smashed him with a stone.

bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt bzzzt
A split second before the jolt of electricity would reach the electrodes connected to my scrotum
the horrible sound would make my whole body tense. Hours and hours of waiting, never knowing when it would hit me.
Sometimes it seemed hours between each shock, and sometimes they just kept coming.
The man in charge was new. He smoked constantly, all I could see was his glowing cigarett, and his silhouette. He spoke to me, but I didn't listen. I thought he would rape me when he asked me turn over and spread my legs. I really wish he had... Hard and lubricated, I thought it was his finger penetrating my anus, but I understood my wrong
when I heard the generator staring againg. It felt as if my whole stomach was burning. That was when I chewed off my tongue. At least the bleeding gave them some problems.
drip drip drip drip drip
I feel like giving up. Once, twice, thrice... I can't. Everytime I bang my head against the wall, I stop myself, an inch away from it, just enough to make it hurt real bad, but not enough to make me faint. I'm so weak, I'm breaking up...
I dont know what to do.

zzz zzz zzz zzz zzz
Too tired to see clearly, I tried to rise, but I fell. I tried again, and this time I hurt my hand catching the fall. I'm starting to look forward to torture; at least that way I get to see light, and change is always for the better. Well, at least for me. Is there even a world out there? I doubt it. If you just pretend hard enough, a half-rotten rat tastes just like chicken. It really does, I swear. Food. More food. Food again. It seems they feed me at different times.
I started marking the wall a couple of days ago. One stripe for each meal, marked close by each other they form a thick one for each day.
Apparantly they even use different routines to screw with me. That means I have been getting seven meals a day. No wonder my beard is growing so much. It's down to my feet, and after only one and a half to two years of imprisonment.
zzz zzz drip zzz zzz