A Dark Silence

The room was dark, as it had always been. No windows, no carpet, nothing but a mattress, a blanket and a pencil. She was fed daily though a small slit in the bottom of the door. Every day the same thing, bologna sandwich and an apple, it never changed. Fresh air was pumped in, and exhaust sucking the old air out. There was nothing else to see, it was completely void of any light, any sound, literally nothing.

Sitting on a thin mattress, so thin; it was if she were on the cold, hard ground. It seemed forever ago that she’d been brought here, taken from her run in the park on that cold January morning. She’d been running the same path every day for over a year, the same time of day, the exact same. See, she was a creature of habit, not wanting anything in her life to change. She had the same job since college, the same apartment, the same friends. It was safe for her, change made her very uncomfortable and she couldn’t stand anything out of the norm. 

She had only one way of keeping track of the days she’d been gone. She rolled the pencil in her fingers as she imagined how many days she’d been here. She had always been aware of time, since she was very little. Getting up at the same time every day, without having to set an alarm. Her mother saying it was a gift, but for her teenage years, it seemed like a curse. Now in her 30’s, she didn’t mind so much and she’s had to rely on that special “gift” ever since being kidnapped. She scrunched her face at the thought, “kidnapped,” maybe the word should be abducted since she wasn’t a child.

She rose to take a single, solitary step to the wall. The room was six feet, by six feet. Her mattress was in the middle of the room, and the toilet on the opposite end of what she only knew as the door. She trailed her hand down the wall, her fingers feeling for the mortar of the bricks. Counting to herself each brick and the mortar that separated them, “One, mortar; two, mortar, three, mortar, four.” Four is where she placed her mark. A small, almost insignificant little thing she did to keep track of the days. She barely remembered the count; it had been 100 odd days. Her heart beat heavily in her chest as she murmured to herself, “One hundred twenty-six?” making the mark on the wall.

Her eyes squeezed tightly as she began to weep. Feeling disappointed in herself for not finding a way out, she angrily wiped away the tears and sat on her mattress again. She heard the slide on the door open, and for a moment she almost got excited. She knew that she never got anything besides that bologna sandwich and apple. It didn’t matter, she thought, hope has always been a part of the human design. But as she reached out into the dark, she felt the same sandwich and apple. Slight disappointment washed over her, only for a moment, as she took her sandwich and apple. The tray slid out quickly, and the squeak of the metal on metal was loud. That squeak, it was the only thing she heard from day to day. 

There were no sounds of birds, no thunder, no cars, absolutely nothing. Even though she could hear nothing, she often hummed to herself. Nothing fancy, nothing loud, as she really couldn’t carry a tune. She bit into her sandwich, and she swore to herself that she would never again eat bologna, if she ever got out of here. The first week was a lot of screaming and crying from her own mouth, no one ever answered her. They just let her scream into the darkness. The endless, silence of nothing. Her heart felt heavy again, and sleep started to creep over her as she finished her sandwich. She saved her apple for later in the night, but she felt weird this time, as if time somehow was intentionally sped up.

She laid herself down, and sleep hit quick, quicker than ever before. 

She stirred, groggily. She fought to open her eyes. The room was bright. The room had light! She squeezed her eyes tight, but she didn’t move her arms, or legs. She stayed absolutely still, keeping her breathing soft and steady so she could listen for... something, for anything. The light hurt her eyes, and fear began to smother her. She wanted to sit up, and look around, but she didn’t know if she was alone. She listened, paused her breathing so she could hear better. While the concept seemed to be correct, she didn’t know what she was listening for. Inhaling softly, and exhaling even softer, she heard nothing. She blinked, as her heart pounded in her chest, almost too loudly. What if someone was in there with her? What if it was her captors? What if they were watching her?  Her heart raced now.

She had to take a chance, she had to. She brought her palm up to her eye and began to rub it so she could adjust her eye a bit better. The light stayed on. She didn’t hear anyone as she rubbed her eyes. She turned her body so her back was to her mattress, and looked around. She saw her apple, lying beside her. She saw white bricks surrounding her on every side, but the side the door was on. The door was open. She inhaled quickly, and rubbed her eyes again. 

She stared at the door, only open a crack, she tried to peer around it, to see outside. As she peered, she glanced at the wall where she made her marks to count the days. It always seemed as that was her way to keep track of her sanity, so she would know that she indeed wasn’t losing her mind. Though she’d never seen the marks, she trusted that her pencil was doing its job, and her heart sank into the pit of her stomach, when she saw no marks. Confused she looked at her pencil, just to find that it was nothing more than a piece of wood… with no lead.

She rose, still finding the room incredibly bright. Her head felt woozy, and she lost her balance, landing with a hard thump to the floor. Grinding her teeth, she fought her way back to her feet. Her feet felt heavy, almost too heavy to step but she did. One step she’d been taking, for what seemed like forever, to the same place she’d went every day to make that mark. She ran her fingers down the brick, down the mortar, counting silently to herself. Nothing was there, nothing at all. She had no idea how long she’d been there, no clue at all. She turned to the door, tilted her head at it as if it were something foreign. One step to the door, she knew she could make it, even though her head felt thick with fog. 

She couldn’t rely on when she woke to count the days, nor could she rely on the marks that weren’t there. She believed she was right, but how could she know for sure? What could she count on for sure?

She mustered herself quickly, and reached for the door. As her fingertips brushed the door, it slammed shut and the lights, once again were off. She balled up her fists, and began to beat on the door. Pounding with all her might, she felt the pain begin to shake into her wrists and then into her arms. Pounding and pounding, screaming for help. No one came, no one. There she was, in the dark, no noise, nothing. Again.