Yes, Professor

Chaos

Ophelia

One week.

Seven days.

168 Hours.

10,080 Minutes.

604,800 seconds.

Its safe to say I'm starting to go a little crazy, I can't seem to sleep at all, I'm far too terrified that somethings going to happen while I'm asleep. Though to be fair, I haven't been trying to sleep either, never knowing when a chance to escape will present itself.

At least once a day for the past six days, I'm blind folded and my wrists are tied together behind my back before I'm dragged away by two no-name brutes. Then I'm usually strapped to a chair or some kind of metal table that you would expect to see at an autopsy.

Then a man, dressed in scrubs would come in, he was some kind of doctor, some kind of fucked up doctor. The men who'd brought me in would then be asked to leave. I don't think they had stomach for what was about to happen. Then the doctor would go over to a table not too far away from me filled with a bunch of tools that you'd only ever see in a hardware store. He was the only one that ever talk to me.

He said I was his favorite. He cut me. Take parts of me. Sew me up again. Do it all over again. For hours at a time, then when he was finished with me I would have my picture taken and be thrown back into my cell, and wait for it all again.

It was physical and psychological pain all mixed together. I think I would've preferred just the physical pain. It would've been easier to manage.

It's never at the same time every day oddly enough at least that's what I've noticed. I think they're trying to keep me confused so that I don't figure out a way out.

They can do all they want to try and confuse me but I will get out one way or another and the more and more they keep me here, the more desperate I become.

I stare lazily out of my cell, waiting for someone else to show up, anyone. There aren't even any prisoners around me, no other captives but me. Just another thing that keeps me awake my loneliness. I was so used to having at least two other people around me most of the time. I miss those two.

It was always deathly quiet too, I wondered if this is what Psych patients felt whenever they were put into those padded rooms? Or maybe even those prisoners who were put into solitary confinement that eventually went crazy?
I could finally understand them to a certain level, of course I don't think you could ever truly understand someone else though not unless you knew how they thought.

I've become more profound as I've been alone with my thoughts, I wish I had a canvas and some paint. I wonder what I would paint in here? Maddox used to say 'Art can come from anywhere at any time in any place. It's usually in the most unusual of places that the most beautiful art is made.'

I don't think this is exactly what he had in mind, but this is definitely an unusual place.

Two sets of footsteps draw me out of my thoughts as I look up and wait for them to approach me. I tried to hide the smirk that was playing on my lips, knowing that what I was about to do they most definitely would not like. Oh well. If I honestly cared about their feelings that would make me a Saint, and after all this I am definitely no Saint.

"Hello there boys, time for my usual torture session?" I ask with mock amusement.

These thugs never spoke a word to me, I think they were under orders to have limited contact with me. I have loved talking to them though, I like watching them squirm underneath my gaze. They should feel guilty for what they were doing, and who knows maybe if I wore them down enough, they may help in my escape.
That may just be wishful thinking at this point, if any of them actually felt bad for me they would've helped me before now..