|Dark Dreams, Dark Covers|
The spaces between the midnight blues were filled with sheets and a soft down comforter. A snake of linens twisted around the ankles of a man, a cotton life line keeping him from falling from bed. Floating, a dull red digital glow hummed in a sphere on the edge of consciousness. His arms awkwardly reposistioned a pillow, the navy blues and whites like a bizzare landscape around his head. And then his arms were at his sides. And then his fingers began to twitch and jitter. Pulled slowly from his sleep, he watched them separate from his hands. Mystified, he watched them march around like small statues from some primative island. Up and over the folds, eeriely still, they almost floated as they moved into posistion around him. They turned to him, and almost stared. By this time the man had started to lose his cool. It was just a dream, obviously, but scary none the less. The longer he sat in silence staring at his fingers, which were facing him like judges, the more anxious he became. Sweat hung like oiled glass beads from his face, his hair was matted and limp. Somethine had to break the stillness, and so he slowly lifted a hand to look at the empty holes where his digits had been. And in that moment, the fingers attacked. They poked repeatedly at him, hard and painful stabs coming from everywhere at once. In his haste to escape his sheets he succeeded in only intwining himself further. Tightening the knots on his own bindings, he wriggled screaming in desperation. Why couldn't he wake up! And he cried for mercy, cried for someone to help him awake. He pleaded for the light at the end of the tunnel, he urged the man with the knife to come and end it all. But the end never came, the knife never flashed red. The moment just went on and on until his sanity was lost, and his body a beet colored bruise. As he forgot it all, he woke up again, and looked at the red numbers beside him. The clock looked odd, instead of reading a time the display merely showed an R: 2. Confused, he went to try and fiddle with it, but noticed he had no fingers. And as the memories flooded back to him, he whimpered and curled into a fetal posistion.
- I'm very impressed Dr. Cantel, your device seems to be working perfectly. -
- Indeed, torture has entered the 21st century. -
(October 8th, 2003, 1:01 pm)
I find it rather hard to like the story. Don't get me wrong, it's well written, and i kinda liked the image of the mans fingers attacking him (reminds me a bit of that horror short story in which all hands rebel, chop themselves of from the people they're on and start taking over the world... i think it's written by Clive Barker and can be found in the Books of Blood). But yeah, that last line really screws it up for me.
Having spoken with a torture victim (from a german WWII prison in Belgium) and having listened to him telling what happened to him, i utterly detest torture. The fact that it is still practised today (despite things like the Universal Declaration of Human Rights) is something that makes me feel very bad inside.
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