Forgotten Minds

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Chapter 10: Tortured To Death Day Three

I feel the cold chair against my bare back.

Wiry seats against my genitals. My abdominal muscles are still in spasm from the brutal attack. The darkness of the room has swallowed me and my mind struggle to become aware of my surroundings.

The loneliness in the room is bearable in his thick presence of dark. I can clearly remember how death became my companion yesterday. How I have welcomed his presence in the room. This memory is now trashed with the awareness that death has failed me. He has left me in the hands of torture for another day.

Seven eight is the number now flashing through my mind. I know it is the beginning of an answer, an answer that I cannot remember the question to.

My mind searches through the memories of the previous day, but I only remember the pulsating cramps. The smell of burning flesh, the voices are removed.

I have a memory movie without a soundtrack, a horror movie.

The sound of the key entering the lock of the wooden door breaks the physical silence in the room. Light entering the door open and fill my heart with fear.

I now search for my military mind.

I am longing for the calculated power that it gives me. I know that my emotional self is far too weak for the day that lay ahead.

“Seven eight,” maul through my mind

“Will it become relevant when the electricity crushes my balls,” I speak in silence to myself.

The steel door now open, the light switch flick and the unseen become the seen. Temporary blindness from the bright light become only light without images.

I feel how hands touch my body, how their heat flow through my cold naked skin.

“So do we remember who we are,” I hear the voice, a voice that forms images in my mind, images that I cannot confirm with vision.

I remember seven eight, but I cannot remember from where. I move my lips but my voice does not work. I try to clean my throat but the muscles refuse to do. My lips form the words again and again, but again and again, my voice fails me. I feel that my voice box has left me, left me when death touched my throat.

I feel how the clamp get attached to my nipple and testicles. My eyes can now see again and I see the boots around my chair the camouflage pants that stands around me. I can smell the urine in the room, my urine.

There is now a spoon in front of my mouth. I try to smell the content before I eat, but I only smell my urine, my fear and my defeat in the stuffy room.

My mouth open and I taste the content, the texture is solid like meat, but the taste is sour like the porridge they gave me on the road.

I want to chew on the content but my jaw refuses to move, it refuses to taste. I realize that I have to swallow, but my throat does not work. The meat that I so desperately need is only lying on my swollen tongue. There is now a tin cup with liquid touching my lips, the cup tilt and I feel how the cold liquid fill my mouth. I feel how the liquid run out the corner of my mouth over my chin, how it pour onto my chest.

Once again I try to swallow, to swallow the solid sour tasting meat and the water, but my throat refuses. My tongue does not move anymore, everything I have is now broken.

My body curl under the search of electricity, I feel how my stomach muscles contract, how my testicles rip and tear away from my torso.

The power is now off again, but the muscles in my torso do not know how to relax anymore, how to live without the impulses.

I hear the voice again, the voice that asks questions that I cannot understand.

“The answer should be seven eight,” I think.

For a moment I am not sure if my mind is not counting, seven eight…… nine should follow but it does not. My mind is stuck with.

“Seven eight,… seven eight.”

Flesh burn as they flip the switch again.

They flip it because I cannot talk.

I cannot say seven eight.

The electricity is now off.

“Seven….,” I scream, but before the eight can follow I feel how a boot explodes into my face. I see the flash in my mind. I hear the bones cracking in my skull, but I do not care any longer.

The military mind is back.

I feel how a smile draw over my face as I do not feel the power of the impact.

“You kick like a girl”, but the words does not form on my lips, my voice does not fill the empty room, the empty heads in front of me. I feel satisfied with the thought my mind is fighting back.

“You hit like your black ass mamma,” I now scream out loud.

The words do not fall well on the minds of the boot wearers.

I hear the voices again angry voices, before one boot hit me in the face again, another in the tight abdominal muscles. Impacts that should have to get my attention, but they don’t, in fact, I welcome them.

I welcome the new method that I can fight, can handle and can manipulate.

I force a new smile to antagonize them, to take control of the assault for a while, but it does not work.

I see how they flip the switch again I feel how the current rips my new found fight out of my system. I lose hope of a physical attack rather than these sessions of hell.

The first session of the new day is now in progress, a session of questions followed by the brutal searches of electricity. It is fiercer than that of the day before, more intense. I see how the light bulb dim today when they shock me. I feel how the contractions now move me from the chair, how the cuffs cut into my arms.

“I have to stop this, I have to…” I scream the words

“seven eight,” again this time I hear a noise from my throat a noise that does not sound like the words. It fills the room with agony. The words do not make sense, it does not tell the story of the happenings in the room. It does not answer the questions, and it does not stop the intrusion into my very essence.

We have now entered the fifth session of the day, the fifth session of hell. I lost my ability to talk, my ability to communicate and my ability to fight back.

My body and soul are now hanging on a string that will break at any time.

I see how the large African man talk I see the movement of his lips but I cannot hear him any longer. I cannot hear voices or the click of the switch, my ability to hear has left me too.

I feel abandoned and alone in a foreign country, at the mercy of soldiers that do not care for anything.

The sense of loneliness leaves me in a large white room, a room without windows where nothing exists but me. My inner ear can hear my soul screaming for belonging, screaming for love. New dry tears are now flowing over my face, the lonely pain in my heart are screaming for something, I do not know. I feel how my vision flows down my face, how my eyesight become weaker.

The black men in the room start swimming in a pool of misty water that will even steal their presence from me. The only company that I will have left will be that of the pain, agony that will riddle trough my tired genitals. Alone I will enter my last moments. I wait for the moment when only death and I will share the escape from these chambers.

I can still feel the power searches, while my mind questions the absence of my senses. My eyes have now left me too and my body is now sitting in the darkness of a brightly lit room.

I feel how my heart rate gives in to the current, how the life in my cells is leaving me slowly. I hear my mind screaming in total loneliness.

“My God, My God why have you abandoned me?”

Before my mind drift off, to a place that I don’t know, a place of peace a place without pain and tears.

I look back to the chair as I leave the room, I see my broken body. Death has saved me from the claws of insanity.

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