Black and charred my hand groped madly in semi-darkness. All I could see through cold iron bars was a single desk illuminated by a weak fluorescent bulb and my own hand, stretching towards it. I couldn’t remember the last time a light was turned on. My eyes burned and watered, but I wanted to get closer to it. I heard a loud clunk and my bars swung sideways, crunching my pinkie finger in the door. It seared up my arm, and I clutched it, bleeding as I ran forward to the light. I threw myself on the table and basked in its artificial glow. I could almost feel my body screaming for glee, ignoring the trickle of blood from my hand. My body was dirty, black and grey with obvious signs of my thrashing about on the mouldy concrete floor. I gasped, and stared to cough. I felt a sting in my lungs and it caused me to sit bolt upright. Streams of water poured from my eyes but I felt no sadness. Was it a gas? Was the room being flooded with gas? Did someone turn on that solitary light not to give me hope but to watch as something new and deadly filled my lungs and destroyed my body? I could only hope so much. I chuckled, pointing my bleeding hand at the wall opposite of my cage, where I knew there to be several white hooded figures watching me. Some icy droplets of my blood hung to my palm and dripped onto my naked legs, streaking towards the numbing floor. I laughed as manically as I could, for it seemed the gas hadn’t killed me yet.

“I see you in there.” I uttered, the words fell like weights from my mouth. “I really like your pretty white suits.” I guessed. It apparently worked. I heard some scuffling and some nervous shouts. They really didn’t want me to see their faces. I mean they really didn’t like it. I heard a loud hissing noise as one of them had obviously angrily turned the fumes up to maximum. I heard more angry noises, and noticed that my right leg had been dyed red. I coughed hoarsely, and wondered what the hell the gas might be.
“Maybe it’s a dud.” I thought, glancing upwards.
“Maybe I’m not dying like they wanted.” I cackled, half thought half spoken.
My cracked lips pursed as I made lewd gestures towards where I thought the glass was, hoping to arouse some sort of reaction. It did. I heard a gun go off, and I watched the sparks fly as it ricocheted all over the room.
“Well,” I thought, “that was a little too easy.”
I heard the sounds of a scuffle in the office, and apparently it wasn’t me who had started the fight.


One Response to Artifice

  1. Annie says:


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