Cell Block Four

However sometimes I wish that these terrors I imagine would take me and lay me down to be consumed.

I am awoken by another visit from the guard. I do not want to eat my bread or drink my water. Instead I talk to Laurah, half expecting her to answer. I talk to her about what my simple life was like before my fate was sealed. I lived on a farm, and had a wife and three children. I was a kind man who wept when slaughtering an animal. However this did not stop me. My family was the most important part of my life and slaughtering this animal was a necessary part of our survival. It is funny how a man can go from weeping over the death of an animal to excitement over a dead woman that lay in front of him. I hate what I have become but a place like this will twist a mans mind.

Laurah’s cold flesh looked so good to my hungry eyes. I quickly took notice to the metal plate that my bread sat atop. It had sharp edges. Probably sharp enough to cut through weakened flesh. I hate myself for thinking this way, but I am ever so hungry. I take this plate and crawl over to her corpse. I desperately try to think of her as a nameless body. I begin to saw away at the skin that is bonding the desired piece to her limb. After awhile I find myself on the other side of my cell holding the severed hand. I shake nervously, but am relieved.

After four hours of sitting and staring at the hand I throw it across the cell. A grey, greasy rat quickly takes it away. I then pick up my bread and calmly begin to eat it.

Bread is what got me here and bread is what keeps me here. It prevents me from becoming to weak to enjoy this torture given by the remorseless hand of seclusion.