The prisoner

A bird flew high into the sky and was shot by a hunter, a snail crawled for hours upon hours until finally a wheel of the car crushed it, and I, the man, have been trapped in a cell surrounded by four cold walls, because of choices I made as well.

In that dark alley on a rainy night my world turned upside down. I have a family, two daughters, a beautiful wife, a good job.

So what choices led to this?

It was hard to think in the cell, a God forsaken prison. Every night I heard the freakish chants of the locals who lived on this island.

“Khul Duhl Suhl, agha inth tabaght, iragh nag hapg.”

Over and over and over again. Every single night.

Some nights I could hear screams of someone begging for mercy, but there was no police on this island. Two men took care of this prison, their only task was to shove food once a day though the hole for the prisoners.

Then the whispers started, every single night. The images of swirling tentacles and space appeared before me, slithering sounds came from the walls, the whispers told me to hit my head against the stones, they told me that I was worthless, and weak. These whispers came from deep within my unconscious mind, the one who whispered knew my essence, he knew my weaknesses, he had full access to my mind. The one they called Khul Duhl Suhl. For days, or perhaps weeks, tormented by these whispers I somehow resisted, but one night I snapped and bashed my head into the stones. When I woke I was still in that hellhole cell, the guard was standing over me, he said nothing, only bandaged my head and left. Now I realize that his lips were indeed moving, but I have gone deaf. I no longer heard the devilish locals outside, but my gladness was based on naivety, as now the one and only thing I could hear was Khul Duhl Suhl’s whispers. I did not have any strength left and I stopped eating.

Then the biggest miracle happened and through the door came a man, dressed in all black, I could not hear anything he said to me, but the guards cuffed me and took me out to a boat. There this man sailed with me to the mainland and I was transported by local police to a place called Parkhorst asylum.

The man’s name was Albion, obviously he figured I was def and he had given me notebooks to write in, to communicate with him and to write down my story.

In that dark alley, that fateful night, I saw a policeman who was trying to rape a young woman. I killed him, and the department framed me.

Albion believed me and after several years he brought my family there and explained to me that he was giving me papers of my release, but that I should go with them far from this region. I could never thank him enough.

One thing I never mentioned to him were the whispers. They never stopped. I leave this notebook for someone to find and read, as I can no longer bare them, as I write these final lines, my family sleeps in beds close to me, and I sit next to a window of the top floor of this tall building. In a minute I will open the window and the whispers will finally stop.