Terrible Short Story Things!

Closure

4 feet by 8 feet.

32 ft. in total in total floor space.

The height is about 2 me's tall. And I'm 5' 5". So the height is about 10' 10".

If we're talking about the entire volume it would be about 323.2 ft.

Oh silly me, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about. Honestly I have no idea how I'm writing this. With this cell being this dark and all. But at least I'm trying. With what little paper they gave me I write my story.

  I have no idea how I got here or why I am even here. I have almost no idea how long I've been here. But my best guess is about 5 years and six months. And in this, 5 years and six months I've gotten barely enough food to survive. I've seen millions of people come in and out, only leaving once they've passed. This place practically had revolving doors. But it seems like I got stuck. Somehow, no matter the torture, no matter the treatments or experiments, somehow I was still alive.

  Round and round they go. New people coming in while dead people go out. And the bitter sadness that I feel in my soul seems to rise with every person. In fact, we got a new person just a few days ago. They seemed to tremble from head to toe anytime one of the guards came to take one of us. But that's to be expected because he hasn't been here for long. Every time the purposely slow heavy footsteps of a guard got closer, the more and more my posture and face hardened and straightened. As the guard opens the door we do not speak, we just silently follow. Well I silently follow most just end up getting dragged, which makes there torture 10 times worst.

  We would go through endless hours of torture. Electrocution, rubbing our skin with sandpaper and then soaking it in lemon juice, throwing very sharp darts at us the tips being coated with acid, Glasgow smile (though it usually heals but it takes a while for it to just become a scar), wheel torture (aka breaking wheel torture), Chinese water torture, ect. It could make anyone go mad and break.

  I always ask myself why I stopped fighting back. Maybe it's because I'm to attached. Not attached to the torture or the people. But attached to the dark. The darkness, which has become apart of me. If I fight back and win then I'll have to go home. I'll have to face judgement and ridicule because of the scars.

  I used to fight. I would fight and cry. I would wail my fists and words at the God in the sky. It was always the voice above, the person who owned this god damn hell hole. He always spoke from the damn speakers, which had long which been ripped off the walls in anger. Whenever asked about him the guards and people who conducted torture would only say he was god.

    The next day I was lead out the room. Past broken doors. Past people with shattered hearts and dreams and hopes, people with shattered everything. We are all just pawns in this little game. They are all addicted and they all play there part. But then again, I have played my part well to. For some reason, I still have hope. Hope that the next time they'll lead me out my cell will be different.

  And this was the day it was, this was the day I was lead into God's office. And as I faced him with a stoic expression, preparing for the worst, the worst was what I didn't get. I got a bigger cell, a darker cell, more food rations and more paper.

  Luck had finally been on my side. But still, as I sit in the corner of my 6 by 8 by 21' 8", I kept thinking about life. I'm tired of this ride, I want to vomit. I close my eyes and see every kid that I used to see, come in and out as though through revolving doors.  The image of them branded in my brain, I just try to push them out but they stay. So I turned my face up, to the actual god all the way up in Heaven and pray. Pray that the parents to those kids get closure. Pray that I'll get out of here to give them closure.

  I tucked a piece of paper into my pocket. The paper weighted heavy in my pocket. All the names of all the kids were on that paper. There futures of the parents of those kids were in my hands. And I was going to give there parents closure.