The day I pick up dazai

Chapter 4

I open my eyes to an indescribable discomfort.

I am in a temporary cell used to keep the prisoners in the war.

Originally, it must have been a simple nap room inside the bunker to protect yourself from air strikes and such. The room is about the size of a hotel room, with only a rusty bed frame fixed to the end. The entrance door has been replaced by an iron door with fresh welding marks, and there is a thick chain used for boat anchoring and a huge lock hanging from the doorknob. A number of black power lines are wrapped around the hooks lining up in the wall, leading to the murky cage lamp at the back of the room. That is only light source. There is no air-conditioning,so the air in the room is unclean.

And am I being locked up in the middle of that room. There is no sound, except for the melancholic buzzings from the lights. The glommy time is passed by me, wearing a gloomy expression.

I finally realize that feeling of discomfort comes from. It is too quiet. It ha been almost two hours without me hearing anyone's footsteps, or anyone's voices. There is no sign left of the hostile and conciliatory atmosphere I felt when I first came here. I stand up and put my ears to the entrance door. Still no sign of anyone.

That is when I cannot help but noticing a fact. A fact that that puts my mind in confusion. How am I supposed to interpret this situation.

The lock on the door ha been broken.

I poke the chain. It makes a rattling noise and fall to the ground. Same goes with the lock that ties it to the front door. As I turn the knob and push it, the iron creaks as if it is protesting, before it always open.

I indulge myself in thoughts for a while. Just because the door is open does not mean that I have to leave the room. I can also wait here. However, what am I supposed to wait for in that case? For the next chance to be hurt? Or perhaps, a chance to give to the guys who have abducted and kept me here have a speech, to appreciate their hard work?

In the end, I decided to go out. My two hands are still cuffed but it doesn't hinder my movement at all.

The underground bucker is long and intricate, like the inside of an unknown underground creature.

I find my way through the dimly lit corridor. Occasionally, black insects would scurry away near my hands. I can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere.

A wind is blowing inside the shelter. It is cold and moist wind that smells like depressing like someone's breath.

I thought I was getting lost. But I am not. I have found a sign.

That is a huge arrow, drawn messily on the ground where the route parts. I walk up to it and try touching it with my hand. That is blood. Someone has drawn that arrow by blood, so big that no one can miss it. The blood hasn't dried yet. It has not been there for that long.

Looking in that direction, I immediately understand the meaning of that arrow. Someone is lying over there.

I rush over to the people, thinking they might not be alive anymore.

He is lying on his side. I can tell his two hands have been messed up even before I am able to get close. His skin is peeling off, exposing the fresh beneath. The skin from the elbows to the wrists, on the backs of the palms of his hands are torn off as if they have been clamped by something. However, the other parts of his arms are almost intact. I wonder what kind of attack he has got to end up with this condition.

There are huge holes on both of his feet that pierce through his shoes. The holes go all the way to to the soles, where it is still bleeding a little bit. I am shocked.