The Doodler Origins

Torture

I don't know how I fell asleep that night. Every thing was sore, and all I had was concrete to lay on. But eventually, I fell into a nightmare filled sleep. I dreamed that I was running through the woods, panicked, with this girl running with me, who had red hair, and something weird was in her face. I couldn't see clearly, and everything was blurry. As we ran, she clutched a cell phone, tapping on it furiously, while cursing like a sailor, and for some reason, saying hashtag before each one.
(HASHTAG YOU HAD A DREAM ABOUT ME---*muffled tantrum* yes! I dreamed about that event, NOW SHUT UP!!) Sorry about that, Pixel is being, well... she's being Pixel. Now, where was I? Oh yeah!
I took a dare and looked behind me, and what I saw, was terrifying. Not quite at terrifying as my uncle Tim was at the moment, but absolutely terrifying. It was a humaniod thing, ten feet tall, with skin as white as bleached sand. It was wearing a black suite with a red tie, which was odd, because we were in the woods, and if had long nimble black tentacles.
But the most terrifying thing about it, was that it had no face. Where there should be a face was a clean slate, with out eyes, mouth nose, anything. Where there should have been eyes, there was an indentation, that furrowed like it would if someone was upset. I screamed, and turned ahead, racing for my life.

"WAKE UP, CLEVER SAM!"  Was the words I awoke to in the morning. I jutted up, scraping my head on the barbed bars, since my head had apparently been up next to them when I fell asleep. He shoved a small dogs bowl filled with what looked like oatmeal through the bars. I didn't even get a fucking spoon. I looked up at him, and he stared at me. "Eat it. It's breakfast." He said, munching on a piece of French toast. "What the fuck is this." I said, not daring to touch it. "It's food." He said, "and you better eat it before the rats do."
I stared at the slop. "Are there laxatives in this?" I asked, and he shook is head. "What do you think I am, a torturer?" He laughed. I rubbed my new tattoo, and stuck my fingers in. It was like a paste, but watery, with oats. It was also, room temperature. I was starving, and it looked edible, so I lifted the dog bowl to my lips. It tasted worse then it looked, and I gagged.
I'm going to speed up a couple years, because I did have to live like this for years. My room was a cell, the food was awful, and when I had to go to the restroom, I had too fucking shit in a cat box. I gained many more scars in my years with Tim. He gave me more tattoos, on on the other wrist, one on each ankle, one in my right arm pit, another one on my left was just below. My right elbow had one, and my left had one just below. Had two on my knees as well. After a while, I had gotten numb to needles, so he stopped torturing me with them. And every night, I dreamed about running away, to anywhere. Sometimes a beach, most times the forest. Every now and then it was in a field of bluebells. Those dreams were my sanctuary, but I wanted it to end. I wanted him to just go ahead and kill me. But it never happened. Until one day, I killed him.