This moment is like standing on a stage; perhaps it could be ‘The Theatre of Cruelty’. People’s eyes penetrating into you. If it were such a theatre, it would be one sick satanic sketch. I feel the black clouds swarming around my head. I struggle to fight my eyes open. The process is slow. One doesn’t want to. Through my weak daze, faces appear in my line-of-sight. I become aware that I am hardly conscious, these blurred forms of faces speak slurred. I wonder how they change the location of their faces so quickly.
My location; Interrogation Room.
I think they’re shouting. They seem pretty pissed. They give the appearance that they are a possessed tribe, like crazed, manic and barbaric Minotaurs; barely human, no morals. Their mouths are larger when they speak, their faces occasionally moving closer towards mine as they go through the ‘Intimidation Process’.
I have to be silent.
I know how words can be interpreted wrongly with these ‘Anonymous’.
A massive traffic of consciousness barrages my brain, I feel light-headed, I can see slightly clearer images. Now, I can identify that these faintly muted Minotaurs could speak some fragmented (a slurred) form of English. I’m imagining things. I feel my senses dissolving into my brain. Now, I’m conscious that my hands, behind me, are tied with a tight, constricting rope. I am awake from my witch-like epiphany.
These ‘Anonymous’ people found:
That was all I wrote. That’s why I’m here struggling like a drunkard on this black, uncomfortable wooden four-legged chair. Trapped within these emotionless black four walls because of those black four words in,
Because, love is banned here.
They are still hurling screams at my face, they are barely motionless. I blink and breathe heavy. Blink again, time slows, I remind myself of my attempt to run, to escape, after I sent that letter. I knew the ‘Anonymous’ would find The Letter. I thought it would take longer. It didn’t. Those assholes. Deceiving assholes. They caught me, tossed me onto a four-wheeled black van and swung a bat at my head. I am sure they did in the rest of me: pain still clenches my torso. Agonising.
This is the hurt of hate.
I slowly re-open my eye, I see a man, holding a Magnum hand-pistol. He is aiming at the wall behind me. I slide my head as far round as I can get it. I see My Beloved. She, looking at my face of pain. Oh, how her beautiful face is now written in torture. She doesn’t want me to reveal anything. I can read it in her eyes. I twirl my head back round to that fat ‘goblin-like’ man holding the Magnum with the massive nose and scrunched up face.
I cannot understand the motivation of the ‘Anonymous’. The determination of the dark.
I wish I could tell her ‘I am sorry’ for,
In an instant. Magnum shouts out a quiet Bang! The bullet rips across my view. My face follows like a sheep. My soul sinks like a battleship. I become inactive. My breathing at near standstill reflects the long pauses of my furious heart beats.
I feel a large drop of sweat detach itself and descend from my forehead. It falls slowly, sweeping over my good eye. I see through this clear drop, it is incredibly transparent. It is like looking through glimmering water, expecting something miraculous. Now the situation magnifies. The bullet reveals itself through this crystal tear.
There I see. The situation magnifies more. I see it punch through My Beloved.
The haze clears. My heart races ahead. I feel my head steaming, fuming, it’s like one of those antique steam trains you hear about in stories, gathering speed. My ears hot with anger and my fiery face, unwelcoming to this disgusting horror.
‘What more could I say!? What more could I tell you!? I told you everything.’
I hastened to a hush. Too confident. Too apprehensive; neither thinking about what I say, nor thinking anything rationally.
They give me a look of surprise, and interest. Interest in my response to this. Emotion. They thrive on gaining knowledge on any emotions let loose.
Her heart was so beautiful, filled with all the colours of the elegant rainbow. They killed her, like hurling trash in a dumpster. Carelessly. No compassion. That’s how these ‘Anonymous’ work.
She was a true anomaly in Here.
Her name? I never knew her name. I wasn’t allowed to know. I think of what her True Name could have been.
I imagine her name was Summer, as she brought the sunshine in times of darkness.