Monkey...
Ever since the tide started pulling in Squareslant and the mysterious Stefush Fan, my urge to post has quadrupled. Before, I could go for days without a thought placed out in the Ether. The Either. The Ether Ore.
But now, I'm a monkey with his brain exposed and humming under the electrodes. I race from one end of the tiny cage to the other - screeching, keening and defecating from the raw need for communication. Soon, the Lab Coat Men will come with their syringes and flip charts. I will flatten myself up against the bars farthest from their reach and dilate my round, round eyes. There will be no room for an attack stance - the ceiling of the cage is too low and my feeder tubes take up too much space for me to launch myself at their groping hands.
I don't know what happened to the others. It is so quiet here. Before, there were 12 of us, with various ages and afflictions. Some were fed more, some less. I hoarded what I could under the sawdust and newspaper shreds that line the hard floor of my cage, and ate silently in the darkness.
Soon, I learned to ignore the cages disappearing. I would rock back and forth, hands on knees, making ook-ook noises to comfort myself. This was noted on my chart and more syringes were plunged into the meat of my backside. I would swell up from whatever new solutions were flashing through my nervous system and then have days where nothing could be recalled. Time was a grey haze through which the world receded, like a slow train lurching out of a fogbound station.
I ate what I was given, and blocked out the encroaching silence. My knuckles became rough from scraping them against the steel of the cage, jamming them endlessly up against the grooves until I collapsed and howled in fury and exhaustion.
I have not seen the sun or another room for months. My body has adapted to the cycle to which the flourescent lights above are set. The crackle and buzz of their power surge marks my day and my night.
I think often of leveraging open the door of my prison with the tapered end of the feed tube, but my hands are too broken now to even slurp water or clean myself. This has also been observed, and tiny marks are indicated on the growing sheaf of paper that the Lab Men carry with them. I hear them now - the soft click in the handle of the door, the squeak of their shoes growing more purposeful as they approach. I barely move under their administrations, the needle pierces my spine with no more resistance than a stick through a still pond. I feel light, very light now, and do not notice how the floor of the room suddenly tilts up at the walls of my cage as I am lifted off of the shelf.
The bars sparkle beneath the searing bright line of light. I watch it elongate, stretching into a shining, horrible singularity that suspends me far above the ground. I will myself into that light, and my parched throat opens out to it in a single harsh note of gratitude.
But now, I'm a monkey with his brain exposed and humming under the electrodes. I race from one end of the tiny cage to the other - screeching, keening and defecating from the raw need for communication. Soon, the Lab Coat Men will come with their syringes and flip charts. I will flatten myself up against the bars farthest from their reach and dilate my round, round eyes. There will be no room for an attack stance - the ceiling of the cage is too low and my feeder tubes take up too much space for me to launch myself at their groping hands.
I don't know what happened to the others. It is so quiet here. Before, there were 12 of us, with various ages and afflictions. Some were fed more, some less. I hoarded what I could under the sawdust and newspaper shreds that line the hard floor of my cage, and ate silently in the darkness.
Soon, I learned to ignore the cages disappearing. I would rock back and forth, hands on knees, making ook-ook noises to comfort myself. This was noted on my chart and more syringes were plunged into the meat of my backside. I would swell up from whatever new solutions were flashing through my nervous system and then have days where nothing could be recalled. Time was a grey haze through which the world receded, like a slow train lurching out of a fogbound station.
I ate what I was given, and blocked out the encroaching silence. My knuckles became rough from scraping them against the steel of the cage, jamming them endlessly up against the grooves until I collapsed and howled in fury and exhaustion.
I have not seen the sun or another room for months. My body has adapted to the cycle to which the flourescent lights above are set. The crackle and buzz of their power surge marks my day and my night.
I think often of leveraging open the door of my prison with the tapered end of the feed tube, but my hands are too broken now to even slurp water or clean myself. This has also been observed, and tiny marks are indicated on the growing sheaf of paper that the Lab Men carry with them. I hear them now - the soft click in the handle of the door, the squeak of their shoes growing more purposeful as they approach. I barely move under their administrations, the needle pierces my spine with no more resistance than a stick through a still pond. I feel light, very light now, and do not notice how the floor of the room suddenly tilts up at the walls of my cage as I am lifted off of the shelf.
The bars sparkle beneath the searing bright line of light. I watch it elongate, stretching into a shining, horrible singularity that suspends me far above the ground. I will myself into that light, and my parched throat opens out to it in a single harsh note of gratitude.
posted by Stefush at 7:39 PM
1 Comments:
Stefush, I envy your writing ability. You paint pictures with your words - sometime strange pictures - but always compelling. If me stopping by and commenting makes you write more often then I put that in the "plus" column.
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