Prisoner log update 1: My captors make pains to assure us we're safe, but I sense their intentions are less than sincere. After probing and blood tests I can only pray that I don't meet what they're looking for. After holding, they moved me to a cell with 2 other unfortunate souls. I hope they feed us, but I can't bare to think what it may be drugged with. I hope this reaches someone, anyone. I don't want to die alone as no amount of captives they file in behind me will garner any hope.
Prisoner log update 2: The Riot Act. To say she was intimidating is to misunderstand the word. We are told when we eat, sleep, and shit. In the unfortunate event we miss our scheduled time, that's a paddlin'. We choked down what some in the third world would call "lunch" before being ushered back to our cells. We do not have names. I am a number, I have an order, I dare not think otherwise. Forget about home and family, this is the longest road.
Prisoner log update 3: Today will never end. It's weird to think after all the hell we've been through, the talking to us like we're in elementary school is what takes the degradation to a different level. I'm amazed at how this many headless chickens attempt to run such a tight ship. What's on all of that paperwork anyway? If the rest of my incarceration goes this slow...measures may have to be taken. I hear that water boarding is rough, but if I have to choke down another can of root beer I might have to stand under the shower head with a washcloth on my face to put the feeling of wanting to vomit out of my mind.
Prisoner log update 4: I can barely see straight. They kicked in our door at 5 AM and flooded the room with bizarre equipment. I was too exhausted to fight. Now I have more tubes sticking out of me than a water park. I can't tell if I've lost more blood from the tests or from my face from all of my "adjustments." Mom always said my mouth would get me in trouble. One guy thought he'd escape out of a bathroom window; god knows where he went. As a result they've taken to leashing our wrists. My last adjustment came when I asked if I could get him to shake me off when I was done pissing. I thought I overheard them talking of a night raid. Loose lips you scum, I'll be ready for you.
Prisoner log update 5: The S.Os found my weapons cache. They're getting more inventive when it comes to punishment. For the first 6 hours I was propped in front of propagandist media. All the quick cuts to tortured imagery and quotes about respecting and worshiping power out of a Nazi handbook. As if to seer the images in my brain my eyes were forced open to stare at blinding sweat lamps. The increasing pounding in my temple is like a timer reminding me of every moment I'm still here. Apparently even the dungeons can suffer a bad economy and they've decided to cut rations. I'm down to five. baby. carrots...
Prisoner log note to self: Keep an eye on Duffy. He's convinced his hands are a book and doesn't think I know he's staring at me through his fingers.
Prisoner log update 6: I think I can start to see cracks in their armor. They still haven't told us why we're here, but it seems they want us alive. The foreboding quiet has allowed me to quell my thundering mind. Our interactions with our captors are limited; they check vitals and review charts barely batting an eye. This impressive given our conditions being the place that hygiene forgot. I try not to think too much about my past, but no matter how disorienting the isolation and malnourishment make me, it helps plant my feet. Even if they try to erase all that I am, they can't make me forget home. They can't make me forget her. Even if I'd opt out of this struggle, what a sin if I were to extinguish that flame. Such a brittle wick upon which to dance.
Prisoner log update 7: An explosion shook me awake. I could see smoke billowing on the ceiling and guards running past my cell. My only problem was if the place went up in flames, I'd go with it. Despite being an ardent study of Andy Dufresne, my hole digging technique had been sub par. Then I heard a loud click and the smash of the door against the wall. Duffy. His hands were red and it probably wasn't jello. He held them outstretched in front of his face and motioned for me to come with him. At this point, following him wasn't the craziest thing I was willing to do. As we rushed through the halls, I caught glimpses of the guards failed attempts to contain the flames. Like my lady's sweet ass, without the right fire hose, they were too hot to handle. We make it to the outer gate before the phone I scooped up lost
Sent from Guard #892-CKGs Iphone.
Prisoner log update 8: The morning felt like a rebirth. The part they leave out is the wet, sticky afterbirth that comes along with it. After we breached the gate we took off running. It would have been pitch black were it not for the destruction we escaped illuminating the path ahead. I found a charger under a rock when we reached the tree line. Where are we? There were rolling hills of trees in every direction, but our once humble abode looked like an isolated hollowed out space. Luckily, Duffy wasn't going crazy, it was an act that got him removed from his cell for frequent psych evaluations. Keep telling yourself that partner...The plan is to try and hide. We have to risk them coming out to search the woods as slicing a man's throat sounds easier than a bear's. Or hell, getting squeezed by a giant snake in my sleep or something, I don't know the outdoors.
Prisoner log update 9: I don't know what to think. No one has come in or out of the building since it exploded. As night falls we decide to sneak back and see what happen. Surely everyone else couldn't be dead, right? One way or another, we needed provisions, as hiking through the woods was beginning to look like the only option. The smell was overwhelming. Smoldering ashes I tend to enjoy, but so thick were they in my throat I could barely cough. We pressed through the rubble making pains not to step in charred remains. We passed our cells, interrogation room, what appeared to be guards' quarters. Nothing. To not waste this potentially fleeting opportunity we located the kitchen and raided lockers. The only real potential weapon we came across was a butcher's knife. I assured Duffy it would be safe under my newly acquired belt. A final glance before we took off towards the woods. Now, we were prisoners of the wild.
Prisoner log update 10: It was a long night. Duffy's brilliant idea of spinning around in circles and taking off in the direction he stopped was as good plan as any. I remember when all I could say about the woods was that I knew nothing about them. I hate the woods. I wish that bear was here, but he'd likely just scratch and bite me enough to make every step after our encounter that much more annoying. Lugging around this many pounds of canned food isn't a picnic either. Sure, we see plenty of deer and rabbits, but every time I throw the butcher's knife at them it just feels silly. We've been traveling for days, which I take it means we've hit a Narnia-esc wormhole and come out through the other side. I can't get images of the fire out of my mind. Maybe we can burn enough of this wretched place to signal someone? For now, we'll keep hiking and wait till night fall. If whomever may rescue us brings anything more than water, it'll help us avoid even more trouble.
[My interpretation of each day under confinement for my first clinical drug study stay]
