PREFACE TO MIDNIGHT’S PLEA

by DAEZY

I felt a cold wind break through the room. I couldn’t tell where I was. All I know is that I’m strapped to a wooden chair with unbreakable latches. I thrashed at the arms of the chair, trying to slip out, but their grip was more complex than I thought. The lights flickered to life, and the room frightened me. I knew this room well. The Chamber. The room was a bright shade of baby blue, with brown and black dirt on the wall, and floor. On my left side I saw a window. The window took up an entire side where a wall should have been. The long frame seemed to look connected to his body. He snickered, and promised everything was going to be alright. He would make the voices stop. He lies, just so he can try his bizarre treatments on me. He smiled and said, “Its okay, Midnight. I will make the voices stop if you work with me.” I could hear a smile of doubt in his voice. “Take the pain. Own it. It will help you.” The hanging light swung above me, threatening to fall and crush me. I wish it would. But the iron holding it up was going to restrain. Just like these latches. “The voices will stop. Take the pain, dear.” His deep, tenor voice throbbed, and a wiggle of pleasure shook through him. His black boots shuddered, and his white lab coat wiggled off his shoulders slightly. He swiftly tossed it on his shoulders, and a big smile spread across his white lips. His lips were framed by a fire orange goatee. It was the perfect evil look for an evil person. “I have you now, Midnight.”

It was very quick. He pressed an invisible button, and big jolts of electricity ripped through my veins. I launched my head back, and threw my torso into the air. My legs scratched the blue marble floor. The shocks ripped through me, but the voices wouldn’t stop. 2/15/45 Rebecca Alice Martin. 9/21/23 Terrence Allen Walters. 7/6/34 Alex Juan Mist. The voices seemed to run together. The voices told me when these strangers would… die.

The shocks stopped, but the pain cut deep into me. My breath became uneven, and my heart accelerated, still trying to push out the shock. 11/19/24 Max Martin Esquire. It was his date with fate. I wanted him to know my pain. “Max Martin Esquire, November 19th, 2024!” I yelled. My breathing accelerated again. He started the shocks, and I screamed from the top of my lungs, repeating his name and last date.

He turned an invisible dial, and the shocks grew more unbearable. I screamed, and thrashed at the chair, but the latches kept my hands and head in place. I couldn’t move or get away from the pain. It was a frightening experience.

My wild, now shoulder length hair frenzied in, like the wind was blowing it. My lips curled behind my teeth, and a growl ripped through my throat. It was animal-like, and frightening. My legs wanted to spring, but I was trapped in a wooden chair with iron latches that threatened to cut off my hands. I was trapped to be tortured by my mind, and my crypt keeper. . .