Chapter 9
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After a long darkness, she opened her eyes. The geometric ceiling swirled around her again. She jerked upright.
She touched her face, then looked at her hands. Bandages wrapped around them. Everything was the same as the last time she remembered. The small table was neatly set with food, covered in a golden cover-dome. Only that was different from the last memory.
Sasha rose from her seat and opened her bedroom door. Trudging to the end of the hallway, she turned the doorknob. Just as she remembered, it was locked. She tried every single window in the hallway. They were all locked. She went back to her room. She opened the curtains and pulled the window. It was locked, too.
Sasha flopped down on the floor in a panic and clutched at her stomach.
"I'm hungry."
She didn’t know if it was a dream or reality, or how much time had passed, but she was hungry again. She walked over to the table and lifted the cover. Was it a dream?
Where was it a dream and where was it reality? Did she eat the food? Was that a dream? Bread, butter, sausage, sliced fresh meat and fruit. If it was real, it must have been the food that caused her to foam around her mouth and collapse. She must have been poisoned, or drugged, or something.
But if it was a dream? Why did she dream it? Was it some kind of premonition, or was it just a manifestation of her anxiety? Sasha searched her memory. What was the last thing she didn’t eat? She picked up a grape grain. She scrutinized it to make sure there was nothing amiss, then wiped it thoroughly with her clothes, sniffed it, popped it in her mouth, spit out the skin, and swallowed the meat.
She held her breath for a long time, using her heartbeat as a second hand to gauge whether she was coughing or choking. Then she picked another grape, then another, then another, then another. Then two, then three, then four, until her insatiable appetite eventually switched from fingertips to palm to two hands, and she shoved the grapes into her mouth.
Sasha coughed. She couldn't tell if the coughing was causing the tears or if the tears were causing the coughing. Before she knew it, she was out of breath. Her mouth foamed at the corners. Idiot, idiot. Her body tilted as her head grew dizzy. Her vision blurred. Don't get back up now. Die now, just die.
Nothing changed. Even before she opened her eyes, Sasha knew it instinctively: the blinding sunlight, the window that still wouldn't open, the pure white sheets, the unchanged landscape. Sasha scrambled to her feet, despair now greater than terror or fear.
"Stop it. Please."
She wrapped her arms around her head and begged. She didn't want to go through the same ridiculous cycle of staring at the same ceiling, waking up, and swallowing poisoned food with the same hunger. Surely she would feel the same pain, foam at the mouth in the same order, and pass out. It made her despair. What a stupid, cruel thing to do, to push her into pain because she couldn't overcome her instincts.
"Why are you doing this!"
She stood in the middle of the room and screamed.
"What do you want, what the hell are you doing, stop it!"
Please stop. Please. I didn't want it. I didn't want to come back to life, I didn't want to be trapped, I didn't want to be put in a fancy hell and given a sweet poisoned apple. I didn't want it anymore. I never wanted it. I never wanted to live. All I wanted was to end the pain. That's all I want.
"Please, please stop. Please stop. Please stop......"
If this is a nightmare, please let me wake up. If not, then kill me.
She was hungry again. She couldn’t tell if this was real or a dream. It felt like everyone in the world had disappeared and she was alone. Like a rat in a wheel, she felt like she was stuck in this constant nightmare, forever. She was lonely, in pain, and helpless.
"Leave me alone......"
What does he want, why is he doing this, what's the point, what's the purpose, what's the point of keeping the meaningless spark of life alive and then crushing it?
This is what God has been doing to me for a very long time. He would light the tiniest of embers, and when I tried to feel its warmth, he would soon crush it. Is this a joke from God, or is it someone else wearing the mask of God. Ah yes. I get it now. This is hell.
Neither the living nor the dead. It's a cruel and most appropriate form of punishment to keep me here forever. But why, why, why?
A nagging feeling came over her. It was a twisted emotion, born of long-held anger. Her senses were dulled, and something hot pooled inside her. It felt more like despair than hope, more like self-harm than despair, more like giving up on everything.
Sasha ran out of the room. She didn't know where the strength came from, but she ran straight to the locked hallway door. She screamed, bumped into it, and yanked at the doorknob as if to rip it off.
Is this what you want? Is this what you want? You want me to go crazy like this, and then go back to eating poison and collapse?
Blood seeped through the tightly wrapped bandages. Sasha looked around. She saw a table, a huge, elegant Renaissance painting, with intricate carvings, floral arrangements, and a stand. She picked up the stand and threw it at the door. With a loud clang, the nightstand crashed against the door and fell to the floor. Then a vase, a statue carved from marble.
As if that wasn't enough, Sasha ran into the room and dragged a chair with her. Screaming, she threw it as hard as she could against the door. The recoil sent her rolling across the floor. The door was littered with the remains of broken objects. But the solid door remained unscathed. Sasha fell to the floor and burst into tears of rage and anger.
She wanted to rage like this all day and then go back to breaking bread out of hunger. Then the next day she'd wake up staring at the same ceiling again, and the amusement would begin again.
Alas.
She was brought up hard, but upright. It was painful to live, but she didn't mind. She never lived for herself. ....... she had always endured and served. If life was so painful, she wanted to be happy after death.
Sister Aretha said. I prayed to you, in vain, that you would open a brilliant path to the end of my life. But you have locked me up, not allowing me to die, not allowing me to live, not allowing me to be happy. Why, there is nothing but suffering for me?
Why. Why. Why.?
Is this the price of my life. Is this the life you wanted for me?
Sasha staggered to her feet. Wiping away the tears that were flowing, she went back to her bedroom, swept the food off the table, and with all her might lifted the solid wood table. With a new scream, shrill and piercing, she threw the table with all her strength, and it shattered the window and fell outside.
Sasha fell to the floor with a gasp, the mouthwatering aroma of spilled food assaulting her sense of smell. Sasha swallowed back a sob.
I'm miserable. I'll never eat again. I'll never serve you pleasure in the order you set.
In the scattered food, something caught the light and glinted. It wasn't a piece of glass. No shards of glass splashed anywhere near it.
Sasha turned her gaze away and stared at the glimpse more persistently. Then she let go of the glass and gears sifted through the mess. As she cleared away the jumbled sausage and lettuce, she saw what must be the key.
Sasha picked it up in confusion. What was this? Why was the key here? She remembered the locked door at the end of the hallway. Suddenly, her heart thudded in her chest. Reality was suddenly clear. Her heart was beating as if it were alive. Was it hidden under the food, or under the tray? Was this just a test, was this key the answer to everything?
Sasha wiped her tears and, unsure, took the key, left the room, and walked down the hallway. Dazed, as if possessed by something, without thinking, just doing what her instincts told her to do. She cleared the debris in front of the door she had smashed and slid what she held into the locked keyhole.
Click. The key turned.
She hesitated for a moment before opening it. The sudden release reminded her of a fear she'd forgotten. She glanced back. An ornate hallway, deserted. A place of solitude and silence. A vague nervousness that opening the door would bring more pain than this, that she would miss this place. But whether this was a dream or reality, Sasha had to open the door, because even if it was another hell, it was her only hope of escaping this place for now.
Sasha turned the doorknob and yanked. The groan was elastic, a single sound that was neither despair nor hope, neither surprise nor fear. Black walls in a darkness without light. Cement as damp as death, facing a door with no exit.
Sasha touched it with her hand. It was cold and rough. The despair was so familiar it didn't hurt. It only added to the madness.
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