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After the theatrical incident, I was beaten by a group of people.  I thought they might have been women because the force of the blows were not as powerful as I would think men could serve.  They beat me with wooden poles of some sort, avoiding blows to the head, until the end of their game when I was hit continuously by one pole on my head resulting in my loss of consciousness.

I awoke in this room.  And since I have regained my consciousness I have counted the days, seven, by way of meals.  My understanding is they serve me once per day, dry, molded bread, molded cheese, three prunes, and some sort of cold lentil.

They serve this with a glass of water and a shot of brandy.  I don’t eat the food because I’d much rather starve to death than to sit in this room with my excrement piled in the corner.  I avoid the brandy, as it would provoke dehydration, and I drink the water.

The dimensions here are, in view, approximately the same as the metal box, though here, the walls are concrete.  I see no doors so they must have built a forth wall with me inside.  Once wall has about a 4″X12″ opening at the very top, and a similar opening at the bottom, where they slide in my meals, and I return them the following day.  Outside this wall I see that there are iron bars that appear to belong to a door which they are able to open.

It is impossible for me to get out.  Four secure concrete walls surround me.  Only a blast will free me.

I am unclothed, unbound, unbandaged.  There is neither a bed nor a urinal, only me and four walls.  I try to aim my urine outside the bottom opening.  I urinate infrequently, though the stench has become potent.  So to speak, my territory has been marked.

There is nothing to do but pace and sleep and wonder.  Wondering, wondering, my mind goes off constantly.  Waiting.  Waiting.  I don’t know what I’m even waiting for anymore.  This could be the rest of my life.  It is a task, but I must psychologically prepare myself for the worse.  I never stop exercising my mind to endure the worse.

Now and again, I get crazy.  And it takes hours it seems before my senses return.  At one point I screamed as loud as I could, yet I could not hear myself, because I was not in any clear frame of awareness.  Once my screaming bounced within the walls of my prison into my hearing, I stopped and realized my mind had gone elsewhere, trying to escape my head.  Perhaps sanity is in itself, torture.  I ought to allow myself to become insane, then all this just might be tolerable.

I was screaming long and loud.  A moan of hell and darkness, coming from the most frightening part of the human psyche.  The doorway to the unknown, a black and violent impurity, unknown because people fear it and refuse to believe it exists.  I have discovered that it does, and now for me it is unavoidable.  Sometimes I believe that it is the only way to get out of this concrete prison.

to be continued…