Chapter 8: Tortured To Death
The loneliness does not last long. I cannot satisfy my need to rest. The steel door protest again on the steel hinges, the lock open and the single bulb hanging from the roof rafters come to live.
My eyes struggle to adjust to the bright light. I can only see the figure of a big man bending through the door. My eyes cannot see the features or his face.
His large hand fold like clamps around my throat. I feel how he lifts me effortlessly from the ground. The screeching noise of the steel handcuffs sliding over the pipe; fills the room. My feet are now in the air and my eyes at the level of this seven-foot monster.
“Who are you?” I hear his voice filling the small room.
In his eyes, I see a person with dark areas in his mind. His memories haunted by memories of bodies and sights that he will never be able to un-see.
“I have to give him my rank, force number, and name,” I think.
The memory of the mutilated children flashes back into my mind. I feel how my heart rate raises, how adrenaline pours into my veins.
“Fuck you,” I reply.
His hands tighten around my throat. The air stops flowing to my head.
“Who,” he emphasizes, “the fuck are you,” he now whispers in my ear.
“I don’t know,” I hear my pathetic voice escaping through my throat under the strain of his large hands.
I feel how the hands release my throat. The handcuffs cut into my wrists as I slide down the pipe. My spine compress as I hit the cement floor. I feel how my bare body burns against the hot pipe against my back.
“I will remind you.” He laughs out while my body bounce on the cement floor.
Before I can recover I see how his boot presses onto my broken knee. I hear how the bones crack and for the first time in days, I hear the agony scream of pain leaving my lips.
“Who are you,” he repeats the question.
My memory banks scatter for an answer. I hear my voice again
“Captain,” is the only word that spills out. Before the eyes of children staring into my memory eyes, change my mind.
“Captain, fuck you,” I complete the sentence.
I immediately regret my answer as his boot grind deeper into my knee.
“In the last few minutes, I have spoken more than during the last few weeks, more to somebody that is not me,” I think.
“Who are you”, I hear my inner voice now asking me. But before I can answer I feel the new pain shooting from my left knee. Pain inflicted by the large boot of my new friend, a man who speaks to me.
My brain is now searching for my force number for the answer that will remove the pressure of the boot from my knee. But I cannot find it. I cannot enter the files that keep this dearly needed information.
My mind jumps back to my basic training, to the identity documents that I gave in when leaving on this mission. I try to read them, to hear the voice of the corporal calling out my number, calling out my name. I hear the number three times, but each time it is a different number, a new number.
“I don’t know”, my voice conclude
“I don’t know”, I repeat with a voice that sounds like an echo, an unreal echo from my sleepless mind.
I look up at the man he is now drifting away from me. His voice becomes hollow as if he is not part of reality.
Reality becomes so close to my nightmares that even I do not know the difference.
I can see his lips move, I can feel his boot digging into my knee, but I cannot hear I cannot feel anymore.
His flat hand now explodes against the side of my face. I see how the room tilts, but I do not feel the impact. I do not hear the slap.
The room becomes narrower and narrower as if even the room is drifting away from me. It drifts away from my consciousness from my senses that might not exist much longer.
Voices in my head become louder. I hear my military voice calling them to order.
“Wear him out,” my military voice whisper in my ear.
“Let him do his thing, keep the smile, keep the spirit.”
My right foot is now in the large man’s claws. I see how he pushes his small sharp knife under the nail of my big toe. I see the pain, but I do not feel it. I see the blood-forming between my toe and the nail, but my mind does not register it.
“Smile, torment him,” my military mind tells me.
My mind is shutting down to a state of sleep.
I push a smile out for the ugly bastard in front of me.
Before I close my eyes, remove them from the horrific views. My ears are resting from the screaming voices. My nerve system is shutting down from the physical abuse.
“The fight has left me, my quest for the last fight has become part of my imagination,” I think while sinking into my pit of comfort.
The only thing I can feel is the salty tears of defeat flowing over my cheeks. I feel how it drips onto my chest and runs over my scared body into my bellybutton.
“He loves the tears, stop it now. Rest but come back with a fighting spirit. I will guide you,” military me conclude
The scattering sound of a tin plate brings me back to the room. I must have lost my consciousness last night. I see the blood around my toe nail where the knife has separated my nail from the flesh. I see a plate filled with a meat stew sliding over the floor.
With no sun and the moon, I have no idea if this is still the first day. I have no idea of how long I have slept, but I feel tired. I look at the young boy that brought the food; in his hand, he is carrying a glass of water.
“Food and water,” I think.
This must be heaven, heaven in a war-torn country. The boy places the water next to the plate and leaves the room. He locks the doors but leaves the light on.
My body want to eat it want to drink, but my hands are still cuffed to the steel pipe. The pipe is now cold against my body. My eyes can eat the food and drink the water but my lips remain dry, deprived of both.
I try to move the plate with my feet, to bring it closer to the pipe. My idea is to push my legs to the side to lower my cuffs to the ground. If I can get my lips to the steel bowl I will be able to use my swollen tongue to scoop some food into my mouth. But my tight up feet cannot reach the plate. They cannot move the glass of water closer.
The dirty heaven remains elusive, it remains a fragment of imagination to me.
I close my eyes to sleep take the opportunity to become a thinking man again. I can feel how I drift away from the room, how I move from the light. I feel the peace of sleep that swallows my senses.
Crushing metal sounds of the door rip me from the peace to the room of torture.
I see how the same tall man opens it and walk across the floor towards me.
His boot flings the stew plate to the side before he hoists me back up the pipe. I smell the strong odor of sweat, his breath smell like the guts that I have left for the hyenas in the bush. I wonder if this smells will be an indication that it is still the same day.
His hands fiddle with the rope around my legs, he now ties my legs to the pipe. Tying me in a standing position before he leaves the room without a word again.
My broken mind recognizes the action, I realize that he is making sure that I don’t sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. Control of my sleeping will give him control of me.
Proudness fills my memoryless mind.
I know that the interruptions will be random it will keep my mind wondering.
His purpose will be that I remain the captive, not only in body but in mind and soul.
“The game has started a game to the death of my mind, then my soul and lastly that of my body,” I think, “a game that will deprive me of a fight to the death.”
“Sleep, rest, you will get your fight. Be patient, wait, he will fall,” with these thoughts I decide to sleep.
“I know I have to close my eyes.”
“I have to put the stew in the tin plate out of my mind; I cannot let him control me totally.”
My eyes close again and I feel how my body drift out of the room, how long black fingers pull me from the conscious.
I see numbers against a wall, numbers without meaning. I see numbers that do not belong to me. I see familiar names on the floor, names that refuse to bring faces to them. I open my eyes and the room is now dark, dark enough to sleep. I close my eyes to allow the sleep to take me, but the lights in the room are now on. I can see the steel security gate and the wooden door, but I know that my eyes are close; I open them again to the pitch black dark of the room.
My mind is playing games, games that I do not need, games that weaken my very existence.
The door crushes again, the steel noise that cut through my conscious mind like a blade. My eyes open and I see two men walking through the door, two black men, the big man is not with them and I wonder if he is sleeping now.
The two shorter men undo the cuffs from my hands cut the rope from my feet. I feel how they carry me to the steel garden chair in the middle of the floor.
Unfriendly steel meets my buttocks. My genitals slip through the holes in the wire-like seat. Sharp edges penetrate my naked body. My arms are now cuffed behind my back to the thicker parts of the steel chair. My feet are tight with ropes to the back legs and the second rope over my naked chest to keep me in an upright position.
Between the two men, I can see the small device with small crocodile clips that they now move under the chair. They attached the clamps to my testicles, they fiddle with it and I feel how a small current run through me. The current run through my bladder. I feel how the warm urine, urine that I did not think were there, drip down to the floor. With this action completed, they switch the light off and leave the room.
I am thankful for the opportunity to sit an opportunity that will allow me to sleep. Another burst of current flow through my testicles. I realize that this device will shock me continuously in intervals that it is designed to ensure that the prisoner never sleeps.
With shock waves terrorizing my bladder every time more intense than the previous one, I settle my mind between them. I count the impulses try to get the rhythm, the intervals. I try to determine the intensity increase. I am now to ten and it lifts my entire body from the chair. The intensity is now unbearable. I know that the next increase will stop my heart. But the eleventh one is mild again, milder like the first one.
It seems like the machine is designed to run at intervals of ten.
My mind is now counting between the intervals. I am trying to determine how far they are apart How long can my body rest before the next one will chase like a small bolt of lightning through my manhood again.
I want to enter the mind of the little machine that will be my only company for hours to come.
I wish the light were on so that I can pick a spot on the wall, a spot where I can tie my mind to, where I can divert the pain too, but it is dark.
I will have to imagine a spot against an imaginary wall to achieve mind displacement, to achieve pain transfer. With muscles that contract and release with the rhythm of the impulses, I start the transfer process, a process of thought.
I have now created a red spot in the darkness of the room. My imaginary hands are free from my back. With every impulse, I touch the red spot and lighten it up with the electricity that flows through my testicles. From the sixth impulse, the light turns dim white and increase to the tenth one before I start with red again. I transfer the discomfort of the shock to the red spot in my sub-conscious world, with every cycle the transfer become more effective more powerful.
With the impulses now under control, the contractions become only an imaginary training session in my mind.
I have to start building my strength. Built a resistance in the center of my believe system. Create faith in my body, in my mind and in my sub-consciousness, faith that will overcome my weaknesses, my insecurities. Faith that will place me back into control of my situation.
Slowly my mind starts thinking through possible affirmations. Assertions that will build a belief system in my subconscious mind. It will empower me to endure any assault on my conscious body.
I know that affirmations take weeks to work, but I have minutes hours to achieve this.
I now fit four affirmations between every impulse and chance the affirmation every cycle, every time the white spot turn red again.
My first affirmation affirm my partnership with the Universe
“I am part of the universe”
I repeat this affirmation over and over again, planting it into my subconscious mind. Breaking the barriers of a religious system printed into me a believe system. Where I am dependent on behavior on the mercy of someone that allow these horrific actions to take place.
My second affirmation after the light in front of my eyes turns to red become.
“The power of the Universe run through me”
The third and fourth affirmations become affirmations telling my mind that pain is relative to my mindset. That no one can ever break me with pain.
“Pain is only a fragment of my imagination”
“I am unbreakable”
These four affirmations are now flowing interval after interval over my lip. Every time I repeat I add more emotion to the affirmation.
I can feel how my mind starts to believe, how the fear starts leaving me.
I feel how I empower myself minute by minute, hour by hour. My mind becomes clear, the shields of tiredness start leaving, the clouds of doubt become rays of power. I use the small currents to empower my body, to feed my hunger for survival, my hunger for freedom.
I become more and more ready for the next assault the next attempt to destroy me. I start to look forward to a day, a day where my mind will defeat their attempts.