Captivity

“Sam, I don’t want to have to ask you this again,” Marc loomed over the dirty mustard covers wrinkled around the boy’s body, “it is now five o'clock in the afternoon.”

Sam groaned

and writhed atop the jagged bedsprings that poked at his back through the

mattress. The words were muffled to him, warbling out of a fishbowl as he

lay half unconscious. Marc sighed.

“If you

don’t get up, I’m going to get Adrian and the boys in here to lift you

off. Then we’re going to move this mattress underneath the staircase,

where everyone can see you. You can sleep in the common room from now on

and deal with that noise. Is that what you want?”

If he had to

be honest, he didn’t really care. They could go about their

business. As long as they left him alone.

“Alright, I

see how it is.” Sam opened his eyes to see Marc skeefing him. But

suddenly, he turned and left.

Was he free

now? Was resistance all that was required for his peace of mind?

They want to control you. It

whispered. They don’t understand; they don’t care. Talking to them

is futile. You know you can only get better if you get home. The

thing was burning with rage; it sent hot spikes searing through Sam’s body.

“Shut up,”

he groaned.

There’s only one way out. You’ll see. You don’t want

to get better. You know what you have to do. 

“I won’t.”

Pathetic.

Without

weed, he was at the entity’s mercy. It intruded on every waking hour of

his existence. There was no reasoning with it, no bartering. Just a

psychic violation. He had tried everything western, eastern, and

alternative medicine had to offer, but it remained. Even the

antipsychotics didn’t work. But he wasn’t allowed any pills in here; they

didn’t believe in them. 

He tried to

flutter back into sleep. Dull pain throbbed at his thighs, riddled with

bedsores, and aching muscles bruised from the tension of sloth. He had

slept too much; there was no more escape into placid dreams.

Suddenly,

icy water descended upon him, shocking him into lucidity. He spluttered as

the liquid ran down his throat and began to choke him. He launched into a

coughing fit; his body electrified into wakefulness.

He bolted

upright to see four men standing around his bed; he could’ve sworn some were

grinning.

They enjoy watching you suffer.

Leave me alone. He mouthed.

“We’re not

going to leave you alone, Sam. You forced our hand,” Marc said. Sam

blinked a few times, wondering if this was for real. “Now get up. You have

duties to attend to.”

Heavy with

spiritual exhaustion, he pulled himself up but said nothing.

Only Lucius

had any semblance of compassion on his features. He towered over the

others, but his shoulders were narrow and his arms were stick-like. Big, but

not menacing.

“Come on,

bud,” he said. “You can help me with the braai, okay? We got some nice pap

and brisket for tonight.” 

It’s deceptive. You know he will force his will on

you. Just like the others.

But he had

no choice. 

The denizens

watched him keenly.

He nodded

and followed Lucius out of the dorm, head hanging as the floor rolled past,

snaking its way past tiles and grey through the dinge of the mif-trodden

kitchen, then onto the fresh carpets of the hall and the freshly concretized

walls with moist smells, and finally onto the patchy grass outside, where an

enormous fire pit roared and crackled in its unyielding glory.

Watch it flicker; watch how it never wavers but burns until it

consumes all. 

Sam took a

seat on a half-broken plastic chair. Lucius wagged his

head. "No, Sammy, there’s a tonne we've got to take care of for the

meal first.”

“Okay,” the

word was laboured.

You are not a tame beast. You cannot let them suffocate

you.

Sam started

to feel as if the world were drawing away from him. As if the voices were

tugging his consciousness back into a box.

No. He fought back. Stay where you are.

Sam half

expected Lucius and the others to hear his own thoughts, or at least see his

expressions as he interacted with the entity. But he could do a good blank

look when he needed to. They would think that there was nothing going on

inside. No raging. No fighting. Everyone had always

misinterpreted him. 

They’ve labelled you an imbecile because you don’t know what to

say.

HAVE NOT!

“Okay, Sam,

you just need to hand me the tongs and the trays of meat. You are going to

be my assistant today.

They’ve decided you’re lazy because you have no energy.

But I’m not lazy.

“If you

don’t, Marc is going to be pissed and then it’s going to be the kennels... or

some shit, I don’t want that for you.”

And they think you don’t care because you never show any

emotion.

Do I care?

 “But

if you just do this and show a little interest, I’ll tell him you did a good

job, okay?”

Sam handed

him the tongs.

Lucius held

back a laugh. "No, man, not now.”

“Oh, I

thought,” Sam’s words were slow and measured; he felt them plod out his mouth

like boulders escaping down a gradual slope, “you wanted them.”

“I’ll tell

you when I do,” he patted Sam on the back, but Sam showed no sign of the

receipt of affection.

He is kind. Sam told it.

He will turn on you. The second he's behind you, he will

tell ‘Marc’ tales about your incompetency. You will never get home.

“See here,”

Lucius pointed his finger towards the fire, “the wood is still quite thick and

unburned, and the flames are quite strong and high up, close to the

grill.” He turned towards Sam. “Too big and hot to cook, you

see? We’ve got to wait for it to burn down a bit. Then we fry the

brisket on the embers.”

Sam

nodded. He wanted Lucius to be the person he seemed to be.

Lucius eyed

him quietly, then settled his gaze on the fire once more.

“You know,

this is one of the most ancient practices of all time. A tribe standing

around the fire, resting and contemplating the events of the day.” Sam

looked up at him. “There’s something about it that’s in our bones,

right? It’s just so peaceful and soothing. I mean, completely

destructive if you let it out, hey? Given a chance, it’d burn all this

shit to the ground.” Sam wondered if Lucius could see his sudden grin, but

reckoned it was probably nothing but a mental flash. “But we contain it

and use it to our advantage.”

He's trying to get in your head; don’t buy it. He’s trying

to make you talk about the weed. Destructive but

contained? Enjoyable, but uncontrollable? Not even that smart.

Sam frowned

and rubbed his head. I just want to hear him out. Maybe

he’s trying to help.

YOU DON’T NEED HELP. You need to get out of

here.  You need to get home. Nothing here is going to work for

you.

Concern

cradled Lucius’ face as he took in the strange expressions on Sam’s. The

battle was raging, and Sam's blankness gave way to tumult. He was aware of

what happened to his face during the times that the discomfort won out. How he

looked to others. And what people thought when they saw him.

They all know that something is wrong with you. 

“My first

three weeks were tough,’ Lucius continued, "and the three weeks after were

tougher in a different way. But I had to get to a point where I knew I had

a problem. Then accept that I needed help with it.”

He’s trying to brain-wash you. He doesn’t know what you go

through. None of them do. 

Out of the

corner of his eye, he caught short and pudgy Marc, shuffling along the

perimeter, checking them out. His eyes pretended to settle on some blemishes in

the infrastructure, but they actually darted towards Sam and Lucius.

“We all

fought it in the beginning. But it is what it is. In the meantime, we

just focus on this one day and this one moment. Having a

braai. Eating good food. Do you think you can just try to enjoy

that? Just this one thing?”

Sam looked

up at Lucius with trembling eyes. The entity began to squirm and scream

insults, but it was drowned out by a warmness rising in Sam’s

chest. Enjoying something was a foreign concept to him. Something he

hadn’t experienced since childhood. At some point, something robbed him of

it. Was it the voices? The substances he’d started taking to cope

with the psychosis? Was it just a general disillusionment that comes with

age? He felt tears starting to well up.

...FUCK…CONTROL…DON’T

“NO!” He

roared as he flung out his arms to both literally and symbolically push the

entity away. But he was so caught up in these new emotions that he didn’t

realise how close he was to the tray of briskets. It crashed onto the

floor, sending oily meat flying onto the gravel.

“I SAW

THAT!” Marc shouted from the entrance to the building. He began marching

in their direction.

“It’s okay,”

Lucius said. “Don’t fret; we’ll wash them off; don’t worry.”

But in an

instant, Marc was in his face.

“You just

had to ruin it for everyone, hey? I couldn’t stand not getting your

way. How childish!” Sam gawked at him. He shook his head

vigorously. “Until you accept your situation, I’m afraid you’re a bad

influence on everyone here.” Accept what? "I can’t

have this. I’ll see you in the office with Adrian after supper, and we’ll

decide what to do.”

Sam had only

heard rumours. Locked in the kennels overnight. Forced to stay up for

24 hours writing out recovery literature. Thrown into a trench to be hosed

down.  He would have to spend the next few hours with thoughts of torture

running through his head.

You must get out of here. You have to get home. To

your weed, your computer, and your bed.

How?

He felt his

whole being turn towards the braai area.

The flame is a gateway to a new world. It destroys the

barriers of all realities. If you look hard enough, you’ll get the answer.

His eyes

flitted back and forth between Marc’s and Lucius’s. One was furious, the

other worried. But both were alien and terrifying. 

He didn’t

belong here. He wasn’t like the other people. They couldn’t help him.

But there

was no way out.

There is. One way.

When it came

to him, there was no fear. It was just a weighing-up of different sorts of

anguish. One spiritual. One physical.

Could he do

it? Did he have the balls?

Anything was

better than here.

In an

instant, he launched himself forward, flinging himself towards the fire.

Lucius

reached out to grab his shoulder, but he was moving with too much

momentum. His fingers slipped over Sam’s arms and over his bony shoulders.

YES. DO IT. The demon said,.

And as the

flames licked his naked skin, he found a strange trance coming on, and his

memory lapsed for some time.

When Sam

woke up, he was in blinding pain.

Thick yellow

gel was dressing deep burns all over his body. They tingled with fury.

“Help,” he

mouthed, and he let out a hoarse moan.

Soon, faces

appeared around him. His mother and father. And someone unfamiliar.

 Wearing white.  A doctor. He sported a scowl and a raised

eyebrow. But his parent’s expressions were hidden from Sam.

“Pain,” he

said. “Something.”

The doctor

cocked his chin and shook his head. “I’m afraid not,, Sam,” he said,

“we’ve been asked not to prescribe you any narcotics.” He tapped a

clipboard.

He expected

his parents to be upset, perhaps even angry at the rehab for allowing this to

happen. Surely they would understand. They’d let him come

home. They wouldn’t allow this to happen again.

He turned to

look at them. They only looked on; his father’s eyes were distant, his

arms crossed.  His mother was crestfallen, her face sagging towards the

floor under an emotional gravity.

“Home,” he

whispered, “please.”

They would

have to, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t put him back there. He would

get better; he’d explain to them. They’d understand. 

His parents

looked away.

“I’m afraid

we’ll be keeping you here in the psych wing, Sam. Until we decide, you’re

not a danger to yourself.”

A panic

gripped him. 

You’re fucked. You’re going to have even less freedom

here. 

And when

would that be? When would he ever be free from the danger of the multiple

villanies of his mind? It had swarmed upon his conscience since he’d

entered what was supposed to be young adulthood.  Would they only let

him out when his incurable psychosis abated? 

I will never leave you.

He grabbed

his ears with both hands and shook.

His mom let

out a whimper.

She didn’t

understand; none of them understood. 

You need me.

“I swear,”

he rasped, “If I can, just get home. I'll...”

His mom fell

into his father’s arms.

“I’m afraid,

not Sam. Your parents are done with you and your drugs,” he said, speaking

as if he knew. On the surface, at least. Deep down, he was completely

unfamiliar with someone like Sam. And he didn’t care. He only saw a

problem. “When you get better, we’ll discuss it.”

In his

heart, Sam knew that would never happen. He didn't know how; nobody did. Or

maybe he didn't want to.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

But he saw

in his parents a resignation. They couldn’t even deal. They needed a

representative.

You’re just a thing to him.

He’d be

locked up here forever.

He’s your master now.

There was no

way out.