Second Life: A Second Chance

Crying Out from the Tанцпол (III)

Oh Vitaly. Even as the years have gone by, I still am able to picture his youthful tender tan face glistening under the rays of the sun. Oh the way his chiseled body sat right beside me whenever I needed a companion to chat with. Oh the way his straight short hair combs to the right side of his head; how I just melt in adoration! But now, the only way I can imagine him is from above, looking down on me from the outline of the risen sun.

Within a matter of seconds, I immediately draw to my mind a memory in which both he and I face each other with our bodies touching, eyes locked on each other, while simultaneously hugging and kissing wildly in a comforting position, all while laying atop a double palm tree held hammock with the background being that of a serene beach. The gentle winds of the sea soothe our warm nude bodies while the overwhelming smell of the salty blue ocean tickles our nostrils so. As he kisses my entire face, I allow him to massage my neck with his face. Soon, I am able to feel his warm body melting and becoming one with mine as I begin to recieve the highest satisfaction one can ever receive from a man. The power of our love making is so strong that I can even smell the fresh and piney sweat that escapes his naked body. The feeling of our shared moment is so intense, that I truly feel that I am here with him. Oh how much cherishment this moment alone has been granted to me! Why cannot this be my true reality? I do not want it all to end. I look at him again after he stops pleasuring me, watching him in delight as he whispers to my ear how much he loves me.

"I love you too-" I mutter, before his face begins to change and distort.

"NO!" I scream, realizing to my dismay that what I am experiencing is likely a phase within the REM sleep walls of my subconscious.

As I try to piece together and hold onto whatever is left of his beautiful face, I feel my ex lover's warm flesh disintegrate quickly before my very eyes, all while my mind is being awoken by the bright white lights of the doctor's room.

"He is breathing," notes an unidentifiable human voice.

"Excellent," comments another.

"Keep him on IV, we cannot allow this to occur again."

"I agree, this is his fifth time starving himself nurse Chuntley. If we allow him to keep it up, one day he could actually kill himself."

"Inject him with the medicine before he regains consciousness."

"Yes doctor."

Attempting to resist the injection the doctor's assistant is planning to give me, I squirm uncontrollably before being held down by a multitude of hands. As I am held down via my legs and arms, I am forcibly injected an unknown substance through a vein found on my neck. And with the unknown liquid inserted into my bloodstream, do I find myself losing consciousness fast.

"HELP!" 

RUN. - howls the wind.

"Escape the tunnel. Free the weapon and use it."

CLINK. CLANK. CLINK. The sounds of the cell being closed shut awakes my sedated body almost immediately. Waking up from my bout of sleep do I feel I had slept for several hours, noticing that I had gained a stiff neck as I had been asleep on the floor. I slowly shift my body from a laying position to sitting position, moving upright against the wall, with the surface of the wall nearly but not at all, touching my back. Alert but slightly exhausted from the ordeal I had in the doctor's room, do I look around the room for my prison roommate but I find that he is nowhere to be found.

Turning my head to the right do I realize I had been moved yet again to a brand new cell, as a new but typical, nearby ground toilet is present before me, followed by a barred wall of the cell and a bordering bunk bed to my left. Almost as if I chose not to forget to look above my current position, do I face the ceiling, feeling almost in awe at the semi-impressive image that is presented before me. Rather than the typical ceiling mold  or ceiling compartment one would normally find in a cell, am I shocked to see several crisplies grounded on the ceiling's surface. All the crisplies, about one hundred strong, are organized in such a way that I have no issue in decoding the outline of words they are spelling out to me: Submit or face ultimate punishment, 25.