Captivated in Captivity

I was so immersed/engrossed in examining the poster and recalling scenes from the movie that I failed to notice the door to my cell being opened. Surprise Inspectors came across the scene, and the projector was quickly disassembled and confiscated. No matter. I’d managed to get some answers, even if they were incomplete. In retrospect, it may have been a mistake to write about the device on the walls. That written text too was taken down, disassembled and confiscated in the same manner as the not-a-lawyer lawyer used, only less sophisticated.

Then after a moment’s notice, the Surprise Inspectors disassembled, confiscated and ejected me out as well, transferring me to another cell, this one with unwritable walls where no food or liquids would stick. This made documenting my journal entries an impossibility, and I was forced to internalize all my internal thoughts for future reference. Not that there was much to record about in the vast absence of my room, which was noticeable for it’s unnoticeableness for the lack of bedding, sinks, tables or chairs. And the door vanished upon closing. If it wasn’t for the floor or ceiling, telling the difference from one surface from the other would’ve been difficult.

I tried shouting for help, but my cries for attention were muffled by the walls which absorbed all traces of echoes, and even my voice was silenced. As difficult as it was to remember my wandering thoughts, it was made harder with the unrelenting sameness of passing of time and no instrument to gauge time with. My daily routine mainly consisted of,

1. Wake up
2. Look around
3. Anything different?
4. If room, walk
5. If food, eat
6. If no, rest
7. If bored, think

In these confined spaces, I had nothing to do but think. My only clue to the passage of time was when I was served random meals, or transferred to another unobtrusive room, which happened with rapid occurrancy. One time, they transferred me at the same time as my meal delivery, and I had nothing to eat, because they didn’t have a scheduled course designed for that room.

I could’ve spent my time thinking about how I’d literally written myself in this corner, recalling the events that led to this fate, but I didn’t. I was more preoccupied with remembering the stories I’d written, planning ahead for scenes not yet written. Even though I knew what would happen, I had no idea how situations would evolve to that state. I had to know how they played out.

I thought of a lonely girl surrounded by unusual people making unorthodox friendships in a strange land outside her common sense. But then these ideas faded away into recollections of twisted recreations of childhood stories. Fairy tales where tales of generosity and reward were instead transformed into tales of suffering and unjust punishment.

Eventually, even that began to lose its appeal, and I began to seek out external stimuli. You can only look at your toes for so long before boredom starts to settle in. Without much surrounding surroundings for entertainment, I was left to hallucinating wildly. I would’ve liked to share some of my fantastical vivid delusions, but without any writing allotments and my rapidly deteriorating memory, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I just remember animated shapes fading away once the image in my mind’s eye matched the faint background details.

There were vague memories of licking spots on the floor that hadn’t been there before, my tongue lolling over these brown, yellow and red stains that appeared shortly after entering these rooms. Over time, these spots stopped appearing and I idly wondered where they came from before deciding not to think too hard about it and go back to the closest semblance of taste.

I dimly recalled the story of another bank robber who after a successful robbery, spent the rest of his life on the run, spending his stolen money to buy off the hired assassins on his tail. This felt like the same thing, only without any hired assassins or money.

I thought for sure that after being caught, I wouldn’t be released anytime soon, but a few transfers later, an orderly appeared and I was told to get out. My mouth was so dry I was barely able to say a few audible words.

“Why’m I leaving?”

“You ask a lot of questions. You wanna go back?”

I was too weak to answer in an affirmative or a negative before they did the answering for me.

“Too bad. You have no choice.”

Already I could tell this was different from the other times I’d been shuffled around. My first thought was that this was the unintended result of being engaged in an involuntary hunger strike. After all, my meals were noticeably not being devoured, and any servings delivered in officially empty rooms would be seen as a waste.

As I was being escorted out, the official reason given was to make room for more prisoners, which made no sense, since there were plenty of empty cells passed by on the way out, and there was more available room than an Infinity Hotel.

Turned out there was a reason for my sudden expulsion, and it had to do with the not-a-lawyer lawyer’s actions.

A strongly worded document listing the squalidness of my confinement depriving compensation for needed intellectual stimulation, violating several hospitality conventions and disproportionate retribution not fitting the severity of my supposed ‘crime’ was presented and addressed regarding my specific cell room. Before even receiving the form, I was moved against my will upon the pretense of disobedience. The original intent was to shuffle me around to other cells, which would’ve lent less credibility to the not-a-lawyer lawyer’s claims. After the Officer exclaimed that the claim had been claimed, and sent to the right cell with no one present, they expected the matter to die down, but the not-a-lawyer lawyer had apparently prepared for that eventuality. Copies of the claims were made singling out every available cell in the vicinity, just in case something on this level of mischief happened.

They attempted to block these frequent requests of dismissal by ignoring all incoming claims with minor revisions to the address, even if that meant lack of access to their own mailing system. They compensated by using alternate forms of communication, but ran into complications as these outlets were equally broached as well. And there were LOTS of repeated claims, all swamping their communication lines. Even brief safety checks was a task in impossibility, with thousands of claims getting in the way. What should’ve taken seconds to verify a routine checkup was extended to days of irrelevant compressed details sandwiched in between.

There was every intention of ignoring the outrageous claims filed in, until threats were made to go straight to the media. After that, it was just a matter of time before it was decided that there’d be less hassle if I were just released. Can’t ask for compensation if I’ve been freed before the lawsuit’s been filed in.

I had no knowledge of any of this happening at the time, and couldn’t very well ask, because I was also hopped up on injected medications which slurred my speech and increased the veracity of my hallucinations. They really didn’t want me asking any questions.

I was a little disappointed to be let out of the straitjacket. It was very comforting being tightly bound together, but also relieving to be able to use my hands once again. Even without damages, the damage had been done. I tried to keep my mind occupied during this lengthy stay in lethargy, but after spending so much time trying to recall irrelevant dwindling details, becoming more concerned about surviving, it was clear my writing skills had atrophied in the confines of my cell. It took time to exercise my brain to regain my composing again.

I was ignobly shunted into the insanity ward, filled with people who’d been negatively affected by the presence of the Black Man. Upon arrival, I tried my utmost best to look presentable in front of all these unpresentable individuals who’d been equally forced into this untenable situation. It was important to make a good first impression.