Path of the Damned

I never run.  Red mark, red welts, red file. It's a freeing feeling, nothing to precede you, nothing in your future, nothing in even the cold, gray prison that your present holds. I never run. Not that I can. On second thoughts, I think these walls are actually blue. I don't know. They switch colors when I stare at them for too long. A familiar screeching rings through the hallways. They need to replace that bell. It makes my head hurt more than the damned torture cell I just got myself out of. A hand appears in the doorway, feeling around for the metal tray. I kick it their way, you know, a little help. They flinch from the resounding change of metal hitting metal. Must be new. Once their hands touch the food tray, it's replaced and the door is slammed shut. They must think they're so fast. I hear them sighing out of relief each and every time. Stale rice, meat, a slab of something that looks like the thing that looks like puke, and an empty glass. The same thing every day, but somehow…worse. There's a stench now, but maybe it's the water dispenser. They needed to replace that a long, long time ago. I didn't even know water could stink so much. I drag myself back to my corner, chains clinking as I do. They do nothing except infect my wounds; even the cuts I obtain from constantly trying to get my way with the white-coat men heal faster than the wounds on my arms, now almost black. The chains are laughably thin too, but I keep them on for their comfort. I'm not about to get extra time on the machine because I tried to cut myself loose. I tried once; it's how I learned all about security cameras. The meat is hard to chew, as always, and the rice is hard to swallow, but I finished the entire thing anyway. Once you get used to eating this every day, you can shut your head off and keep chewing like a machine. Knowing my…advantages, I wonder how they can live with food like this. Hell, even my blood tastes like something. I kick the tray to the door, the thing landing with a pathetic thud and a click. A click? I must've missed it. I stand up, pretending to come back to the bowl so I can scoop out the last bits of the slob. I turned my back to the camera and pushed as lightly as I could, making sure to keep looking at the bowl.  As expected, the door clicks and bounces back. The door is unlocked. The door is unlocked. I walk back to my corner, letting the shadows do their job. They never bother to keep the lights on bright. Once sure they couldn't see my eyes, I looked up. The red blinking stare of the camera looked back at me. It's still on. The door is open, camera on, and they're not coming back until the next alarm. The door is open. A rush flows through my veins. The bad kind, so I was told, because it made me do things they couldn't predict. I know the layout of this place like the back of my hand; blindfolds don't do much when you can read minds. Problem is, guards can be so unreliable, so I mostly trust my bare feet to map it out. I don't know what's outside. But I do know that I'm not alone. I've heard their screams over and over again. Feral, rough. Loud. When they found out how to hurt me, they never really stopped. They always tried to heighten the pain. I have scars even magic can't erase. It must be the same for them as well.  I'm human; the guards don't usually guard their thoughts as much as the bug-eyed men do, and I like to listen. I'm human, they said, just like them. I'm human. I look up at the camera, my hands, the door, and back up. And then, without hesitation, I run.