Post by Nadir on Oct 22, 2020 19:28:42 GMT -5
You’re moving. In fact you feel like you’re floating or hovering. You lift and drop your legs hoping to feel ground under your feet. That familiar sensation never occurs. You can’t see because you’re blindfolded. At least you think you are. Again. You can’t really tell. Seeing and feeling are no good. What does that leave? You feel as if it should be obvious. You’re an adult and while all of this has left your mind somewhat foggy, you’re certain that you learned about the senses in grade school.
You graduated grade school, didn’t you?
Of course you did.
Are you a child?
They wouldn’t literally kidnap a child?
Would they?
You feel a chill at the realization that you can’t answer your own question.
Feeling! That’s the sense you’re forgetting!
You flex your hands and feel instant relief that you can actually feel the skin of your fingers and your nails. Your nails seem as if they’re longer than they should be, a fact that you only notice once they cut into your palm. You hear yourself let out a hiss of pain. You’re about to go down that mental road when you’re suddenly jerked into reality again.
“Hold still.”
The order comes from the guy who always acts like he’s a murder conviction away from the electric chair. Furious. You feel like you should be furious too, but there’s something inhibiting you from tapping into that part of your emotions. Did they drug you? You can’t remember, but it would explain a lot. It would explain the sensation of foggy detachment you’re currently experiencing.
You hear metal. Maybe keys jingling? Is that a door opening?
“Throw that piece of shit in there.”
The angry one.
“Man, I almost feel sorry for you.”
The mouthy blonde.
“Almost.”
He follows the statement, which was spoken with a fair amount of amusement in it, with a snide little chuckle.
“You’re circling the drain, bud.” He quips, making some kind of strange sound. “You thought that you had this hemisphere in the palm of your hand, like you were the champion.”
“Look at you now. You’re sitting in a gross looking chair in an even more gross looking hotel room. I bet that even the roaches pack heat in this dump.”
Another annoying giggle.
“That’s a funny mental image.” He muses. “Pew pew...squeak!”
It sounds like he’s about to make some other inane quip when he’s interrupted.
“We just got the call.”
The angry one again.
“Do we have everything?”
The self-styled comedian asks. There’s definite anticipation in his voice.
“All necessary preparations are in place.”
The ominous remark is followed by a loud and frankly melodramatic sigh.
“Can’t you just say ‘yes’?” the blonde asks. “Why can’t you just say ‘yes’? Why do you have to be so ominous all of the time?”
“Maybe I just enjoy annoying you.” the irritable one replies. He almost sounds like he’s smiling.
You hear the clink of glass and the metallic scrape of a bottle opening. A few seconds later a hand constricts around your mouth and forces your jaw open before another one yanks your head back.
“Bottoms up!”
Whiskey.
Your favorite.
You graduated grade school, didn’t you?
Of course you did.
Are you a child?
They wouldn’t literally kidnap a child?
Would they?
You feel a chill at the realization that you can’t answer your own question.
Feeling! That’s the sense you’re forgetting!
You flex your hands and feel instant relief that you can actually feel the skin of your fingers and your nails. Your nails seem as if they’re longer than they should be, a fact that you only notice once they cut into your palm. You hear yourself let out a hiss of pain. You’re about to go down that mental road when you’re suddenly jerked into reality again.
“Hold still.”
The order comes from the guy who always acts like he’s a murder conviction away from the electric chair. Furious. You feel like you should be furious too, but there’s something inhibiting you from tapping into that part of your emotions. Did they drug you? You can’t remember, but it would explain a lot. It would explain the sensation of foggy detachment you’re currently experiencing.
You hear metal. Maybe keys jingling? Is that a door opening?
“Throw that piece of shit in there.”
The angry one.
“Man, I almost feel sorry for you.”
The mouthy blonde.
“Almost.”
He follows the statement, which was spoken with a fair amount of amusement in it, with a snide little chuckle.
“You’re circling the drain, bud.” He quips, making some kind of strange sound. “You thought that you had this hemisphere in the palm of your hand, like you were the champion.”
“Look at you now. You’re sitting in a gross looking chair in an even more gross looking hotel room. I bet that even the roaches pack heat in this dump.”
Another annoying giggle.
“That’s a funny mental image.” He muses. “Pew pew...squeak!”
It sounds like he’s about to make some other inane quip when he’s interrupted.
“We just got the call.”
The angry one again.
“Do we have everything?”
The self-styled comedian asks. There’s definite anticipation in his voice.
“All necessary preparations are in place.”
The ominous remark is followed by a loud and frankly melodramatic sigh.
“Can’t you just say ‘yes’?” the blonde asks. “Why can’t you just say ‘yes’? Why do you have to be so ominous all of the time?”
“Maybe I just enjoy annoying you.” the irritable one replies. He almost sounds like he’s smiling.
You hear the clink of glass and the metallic scrape of a bottle opening. A few seconds later a hand constricts around your mouth and forces your jaw open before another one yanks your head back.
“Bottoms up!”
Whiskey.
Your favorite.