The Visitor (A Short Story)

The Visitor

I gave a sigh of misery. My wrist was raw from the metallic cord tied to it. It connected me to my life source, a light bulb-like device, but much bigger, with flecks of life floating in it.

I hated it.

I was its prisoner.

I couldn't go anywhere with it tied to my wrist. I pulled, trying to move it, but I screamed in anguish as the cord dug into my skin, and blood trickled down my hand.

Living was torture. I wanted to be done. I wanted to die.

I remembered my life before, my parents, my sister. I had been happy. I had been cared for. I had been safe.

This was beyond everything I had ever imagined. This was worse than my wildest nightmares.

I was trying to help science. Trying to help make immortality possible. Now it was. But, who would want to live like this? In torture? In agony? With no one? It would be better to die than to live forever in this... this torture.

I didn't need food or water, my life source made sure of that.

The scientists had good intentions... but after my experience, I hoped they'd stop. I didn't want anyone else to suffer my fate.

What was worse, was the fact that I had no idea where I was. All that there was for miles were clouds of curious, blue, light.

It always seemed to be night.

The ground was like dust. It spread as far as I could see.

I hadn't seen a single person for 8 years.

8 years of torture.

8 years of agony.

All by myself.

I only knew how much time had passed, because there was the date written on my life source.

My wretched life source.

It was driving me insane.

My voice was cracked and dry from lack of use. I'd only ever screamed since I came here.

I couldn't even remember my own name.

I had big welts on my wrist from the metal cord burning me. I couldn't untie the cord because it would burn me beyond endurance.

My left wrist would never be the same, I was sure.

If I had to live in this forever... the same awful cycle.

I wanted anything, but this. Anything.

But, there was no way out. I would live forever.

Forever was much longer than 8 years.

Too much for my 13-year-old mind to accept.

And, much longer to suffer.

I looked at my aching wrist, it was still bleeding.

Not even luck could save me now.

I sighed, I had accepted long ago that this was my fate, but that didn't make it any easier.

It didn't make the torture more bearable.

It only made me more miserable.

Nothing could change my future. Nothing.

I was hopeless. I doubted anyone could change my mind.

All I did all day, every day, was walk out as far as the cord would let me, not far, and sit. Sometimes pulling at the cord, or else trying to untie it, and then it would burn me.