The Place Beyond the River

Decent Essays
Trapped. It’s like being in a dream, a dream with no beginning or end. It’s like brick walls, crumbling and collapsing on you, till your lungs screech out as it succumbs and convulse in desperation, for even the slightest gasp of air. Drip by drip, it throttles every last trickle of your soul, as if you are a bug, trampled till you can move no more. Every last trill of blood has emanated from your body. You shriek piercingly within for someone but it is rendered useless as no one can descry you. “Being trapped does not confine you, it reveals you.” * * * * * One by one they disappear, Like falling leaves when autumn’s here, I catch one leaf as one drifts near, And open my hand to see it clear, But it fades away – and disappears. Her bile coloured eyes, twinkling, yet soulless, stare right through my soul, as the figure in white walks in, into my frigorific Davy’s grey metal chamber. With her hand clasped onto a blood-red metallic tray, as if her slender, bony fingers have been drilled into the device designed for immense torture. As she steps forward, forcing me down onto the cold table, its frigidness seeps into my skin, into my very bones. Slipping the tray beneath my table, she delicately raises a glass syringe, full with a purple serum. Every part of my body chants out as it desperately hangs on, knowing what is about to happen, tasting every last drop of sanity before the voices start taunting me again. “I am not finished yet!” I shout in my head as she
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