It is a chilly morning. They gave me a blanket : more like a vomited on, shagged on, spitted on rug. That's how I know the weather. But, that is not what I am troubled about - it is the chill within that is killing me. It starts from the sole of my left foot and travels upwards, branching to hit my right hip which I had once fractured in a bar brawl, until it reaches my skull and seems to disperse like water from a stunted hose pipe. Of course it does not feel like water - It feels like acid, like hot iron on butter. I am sick.
I am in a 2.5x2.5x1.0 feet box. Do you know what that means ? It means I cannot quite lie down without licking the wounds on my knee and I cannot quite sit up without smelling my stinking crotch. I cannot stretch, or stand, or jump, or even shout - I do not like my scream : it does not sound like me any more. I cannot see. There is no light - I realize now, on being deprived, that the rays of sun, which we take for granted, bring hope from the center of the galaxy. I can only smell - vomit, blood, feces and others i have no vocabulary for.
Every day they open a slider and hand me a bowl of foul smelling soup and bread. And they open the same slider again - for 5 minutes. That's the time I have to take my shit. If I miss that, I get to live with it. A'int it like the shit we have in our life ? There's always that slider that opens for only that much time - if you miss it, the shit stays with you, probably forever.
I designed all of this.
I wanted to be here. You see, I am an addict. And the heroin is my seductress. Oh! how i miss her. Each chill, each shiver, each cramp is her message to me, her enticing arms, her warm and deep embrace.
She fucked me.
No. I fucked me. Over and Over.
Thus I'm here.
I am a rich man you see. That's how I can afford this setup. I will be out tomorrow. And I will be clean. 3 months in this box - i have kinda started loving her. The first month was the worst. Or so I thought. It never got better. But I still love her. She has made me clean.
These shivers are like the last attempts of the hunted gazelle to live - the last dance of a beheaded chicken.
Tomorrow it shall end.
Its like swimming from the depth of the ocean to the surface - Oh! its so magnificent ! I can see a thousand suns - Oh! Its so beautiful, I had lost my memory of the sun - its so brilliant. I swim faster, fighting gravity - the sun becomes brighter, it is smiling as I come to hug it. Oh! the surface is so close I can see the waves - I am almost there. Finally I can breathe-
Ahhhhhh!
Have they set my box on fire ? But I told them to do that after I was out ! Ahhh! My skin! Its burning. I cannot see - Is this my end ? Is this death ? Its an angry death - to die burning. I would prefer drowning - i would prefer to die cold. I cannot live - I am burning - Ahh! I die now.
"Yes Sir", said a neatly dressed soldier, who carried with him a Kalashnikov - it was a beautiful machine.
"Oh, its Arnold", I thought smiling.
"He is #31415", said the soldier to the 3 parole officers seated in front.
They looked down at the papers, startled - I think they did not understand the language. They were discussing something - probably the plot of a movie they saw last night.
"Do you want Parole ? You just have to say it, it is not so difficult you see. You have overstayed your term by five years now. Asshole", said the young one seated at the center. "Harvard", said my right lobe. "Yale, you fool", said the left, to which I agreed.
"Fuck Parole. Gimme a cigarette", I said smiling.
I was hopeful again. I could feel the rays on me. I had it all planned. It pisses them off you see - my smile.
"Send him away", barked the officer.
Multiple Homicide - 2 families : each with 5 members. Every one killed - decapitated. Even the 1 year old.
