I am chained, thrown to the side, and forgotten. As unimportant as my single life may be, I want to live it. Yet, I am denied my need.
Shackled tightly inside my filth infested cage, huddling against the wall, I dream. Dreaming of a way out. Even if it were death I would welcome it. Oh how I wish something would come to free me. Freedom is no choice though, I have no choice. Nor do I have a name, a face, or even a color.
There is no skin on my body to distinguish me from others, I see no one else. Why should I need a name, when I am to die alone in a cage, worse off than the dirtiest of animals. Did you know that even silence has a color, a name and a face? Silence is black, his name, Insanity. And the face, you ask, why it is known only to the most desolate of victims. Thankfully, I am not yet one of them.
But, maybe I am a liar, for the silence is broken. I hear the dripping of an unknown substance, and the creaking of some poor souls last attempt at freedom before the rope snapped their neck. I have heard all these things, the screaming and crying of men and woman as they make their way through the cages. Why I have lasted so long is a mystery even to them.
Once the whipping ceased to bring screams of agony from my lips, they too realized that I had stopped feeling. This body is numb and broken. The skin of whatever color is ripped nearly off. Cold pieces lay on the dirt around me.
Liquid drips from above this body onto me. There is no color when everything in ones world is black. The drops trail down to my lips, wetting them. I would lick the drops away, if I had a tongue to do so with. I would even attempt to moisten my lips, if I could move them without ripping stitches from my mouth.
So there it glistens, mocking me, taunting me. That one drop of liquid shows me that I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I cannot feel the sensation of objects on the skin, there is not enough left to feel with. I cannot laugh in triumph, nor scream in fear. No tears form from my eyes, where there too I have been denied what I need. I have no sight, it being stitched away.
That one drop of liquid, trembling from my cracked lips, has shown me there is no way out besides the only option I have. As I use what strength I have to pull on the chains that bind me, I hang my head. They come quickly, waiting for the day that I would end my time. If they were men or women, I couldnít tell, and it mattered not to me. I was going to be free. They took the naked form, not caring if the slashes left blood down them, and placed me in a room full of echos.
The first thing I was able to feel in a long time, was them ripping my bindings off. Not the shackles, oh no, those stayed with you for life. No, they ripped my eyes and mouth open, and for the first time I was able to see the truth and scream out in fear, anger and horror.
This was the truth of my existence; I didnít have one. I was un important, just a pawn to be tossed aside. A weed in a garden. All the creaking and dripping that has been my only company for so many nights has been the deaths of my fellow desolates. Hundreds of bodies hang from the ceiling like gruesome ornaments, black blood dripping from their wounds.
I reach above my head, knowing what will be waiting for me. I grip onto my last touch and slide it around my neck. I can hear the anticipation behind me. My first step, is my last.
My face, is disgusting.
My color, is rusted dirt.
Call me nameless.