Lorenzo's Stay at Sandy Nuts Idaho

Formalities

"What are you doing in there?" his father questions.

Lorenzo thought his father had gone back to bed. Carefully he moves his eyes to the sliver of vision that is exposed in his scraggy blanket. Lorenzo, scared to commit fully to perceiving reality, weakly puts his weary vision on the door. 

"What Are You Doing In There?" he repeats again painfully enunciating each word.

Lorenzo responds with a quiet, "I'm trying to go to sleep." Hoping this was enough for his father to be satisfied but not enough to warrant a spiritual assault.

No footsteps are heard walking to or from the hallway. Waiting in silence, he can clearly hear his heart pump blood through his body. Eventually slow languid footsteps walk back towards his parents room. The sweat turns his sleeping area into a bunch of wet sewn-together leaves. Moving now will definitely not bode well. Any bodily functions that he shows may produce punishment. He's just glad he doesn't have allergies as a sneeze right now could-

A tickle in his throat almost makes him cough. He viciously constrains his tongue to the top of his throat. The pressure is building in his esophagus. Sooner or later he's going to have to breathe. His life flashes before his eyes as a small cough escapes him.

He hears a voice from down the hall. "Go to bed."

How on earth did they hear me? He shifts to a more comfortable position. Too much noise.

The same voice says, "Go to bed or else suffer the consequences."

Goosebumps rise against the constricting blanket. His body strains to not move. It's almost impossible because of how tight his body is. His breath is trapped in his tightening chest. A sharp pain makes his body lurch. He stifles his breathing to a low murmur. The night drags on until, finally in the early morning, he passes out from exhaustion.

When he wakes up the door to his room is hanging open. The light pours in and stings his eyes. How long did I sleep? Doesn't feel like I slept at all. He sits up on the floor. It feels like an ice pick is digging in the front of his head. He lets his head drop in his hands. Not wanting to face the day, he allows comfort to jerk him off and he lays back down. His eyes shut and a comfortable darkness washes over him. He then notices, even though his eyes are shut, that his vision is now even darker.

The subtle noise of a click makes him open his eyes. He sits up again now in the near pitch black room. The door was shut now and the only light coming in the room is from the sliver in the bottom of the door. He lays back down, too tired for caring.

If it wasn't absolute silence in the room then the whispering that starts in the corner would've been undetectable. But unfortunately for Lorenzo this room simulates white torture to a new level. He shoots up just to stand frozen in place. In the opposite corner the whispering grows louder yet he still can't discern any words from it. His heart rate grows louder. As does the whispering. His intestines begin to unravel and he forces his sphincter shut.

He runs into the door face first. A warm liquid comes pouring down his face and onto his chest. The door begins shaking violently as he begins pounding his fists into it and screaming his heart out. All this racket is yielding no results as his bat-eared parents are not running to his rescue. His blood pressure spikes immensely and the cardiac gymnastics commence. A sharp pain in his chest crumples his lower extremities and he collapses to the floor. His vision darkens for good this time and he takes his last breath.

The sounds of a radio being tuned in the other room wake Lorenzo up. The door is hanging open again with a dry mess of dark red liquid illuminated by the setting sun. This time when he sits up, he runs out of the room. When he finally emerges from the maze of a hallway. He finds his parents sitting at the dining room table. They are eating the last meal of the day.

His mother looks up from her mashed potatoes, "Oh look who finally woke up."

His father on the other hand seems to now devour his food even quicker. He chugs his unpasteurized milk and walks to the kitchen to unload his dishes. Lorenzo looks down and notices the caked streams of dried blood from his nose stain his white shirt.

His mother yanks his attention back, "Well you aren't doing any night runs yet so you should get back to bed now."

Lorenzo's mouth hangs open in disbelief. His eyes begin to water. But I just got done sleeping. If you can even call it that. The dread of going back into the hell room is making him lose his balance. His hands clutch the dining room chair.

He looks up to speak, "Wait can I just stay up a little longer?" A tear falls from his eye.

His mother stops eating and drops her fork. She smiles at him. He smiles back and gets his hopes up again. "You may have a cup of water, then back to bed." 

His stomach turns and his smile disappears. Is she fucking crazy?

Although the night is suppose to aid in relaxation for the rest of the world. For some individuals, night is when they encounter their deepest darkest fears. So there he stands again the room with a glass of water, slowly sipping it with his mother waiting in the doorway with her arms crossed. He drinks it slower than a disabled hamster not wanting to be in his room, his hell, alone again.

But eventually his water runs out and his excuses get stuffed down his throat. The door slams. He is thrown to the floor again as the force of a thousand suns vibrates the house. The door is now a wall. There is no way out and no way in. He is left to experience the second night of misery.