The Monster Within

I rock back and forth, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Over and over. They're late. They're always late. I bite my hand to keep from crying out. It's a better alternative than screaming. They've long since stopped caring.

Finally. Finally. Finally. The small sliding door opens and the tray slides into my dark prison cell, accompanied by a straw. I finish quickly as a guttural cry escapes my throat without my permission. It's not enough. Never enough. I used to beg, banging at the door until my hands bled but they don't care. They've never cared.

I pace the small confines of the room, back and forth, almost insane with need. All I'm asking for is a little more. Can't they do it just one time? I banish the thought. I learned a long time ago that more is sometimes just as dangerous as not enough.

I pick up a small rock and drag it along my arm. The sensation a small reprieve to the gnawing hunger inside. I feel drops of blood run down my arm and faintly hear them land on the tile floor. It's a welcome distraction.

I resume pacing and don't stop until I hear that sliding door, hours later. I make a face when I see a syringe on the tray but kneel down to it without hesitation. I suspect they think this is a treat for me? I let out a high, piercing laugh that's cut off quickly.

When I'm lucid and my eyes can focus together I curl in the fetal position and rock myself slightly. They think they're being nice but I wish they wouldn't. Now I can barely contain the thrashing inside that threatens to rip me apart.

I drift between sleep and waking, faintly aware of how absolutely deafeningly quiet it is. When the little door opens this time my body doesn't let me move to get what's on the tray, deciding instead to chain me to my place on the floor.

Just as I convince my limbs to circulate blood through my veins the sliding door opens again and the tray is savagely taken away from me. I let out a feral cry and stumble to the door, pounding as hard as I can manage. No. No. No. No!

I've never missed a tray before. I didn't know they take them if you aren't as punctual as they'd like you to be. I fling my body from the door and start taking my anger out at the things in my room. I tear my sheets apart and throw the chair against the wall, breaking one of the legs.

And as I turn back toward the door, my energy finally spent, my eyes set briefly on the black, satin box with a single golden key in it.