He Sees You When You're Sleeping

7th December- Earworm

Headphones. Headphones and a sack. Those were the two items that destroyed his life.
Ever since Mickey's group of spies had been found, they'd been interrogated. At first, it hadn't been so bad. They were good at interrogations and answering the questions without giving away too much information. Unfortunately for them, the police weren't satisfied with their vague answers. When they'd realised they weren't going to get any of them to speak, they also realised they'd have to break them. That's exactly what they did.

"What are you doing?" Demanded Mickey as he felt a sack being placed over his head and a pair of headphones that sat on his ears. He felt himself being escorted out of the interrogation room. "Where are you taking me?" He struggled in his escorts' grips. Wherever they were taking him, he didn't want to go. The metal creaking of a metal door hinted strongly as a cell. He was then sat down in a chair, wrists tied behind his back."What is this?" He felt a cloth placed over his mouth. There was no answer. Only the darkness which stretched on forever.

JINGLE BELLS! JINGLE BELLS! JINGLE ALL THE WAY! This was the first sound that greeted him in a week of silent confinement. It boomed into his ears, played much too loud. Under normal circumstances, Mickey would've complained about damaging his hearing. But these weren't normal circumstances, and he was grateful that the silence had been broken.
Ah, finally. Something to listen to. Thank heavens.
OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIDE ON A ONE HORSE OPEN SLEIGH! HEY!
Mickey even found himself singing along to the tune. Was this supposed to be torture? If so, it was a terrible method. Mickey would regret this thought for the rest of his life.

By the second day, Jingle Bells had gotten old. The constant repeat of the song after it finished each time was frustrating, to say the least. It wasn't even that great a tune. The worst thing was not being able to do anything about it- with his hands tied behind his back and his sight blocked, there wasn't anything he could do to take off the headphones or focus on to take his mind off the droning music in his ears. He couldn't fall asleep because of the constant singing.

Three days later, the only thing tying Mickey to reality was keeping track of the days he'd been here and the number of times the song had been repeated. Soon that faded, too, and he was left alone with his troubled thoughts and the song, constantly blaring.

By the end of the first week, he'd lost track of time completely. He could feel himself slipping away. The music which had once been a solace was now his tormentor. I want to die. Please. Anyone. Anyone at all. Kill me now. Anything to stop this. Help me. He pleaded. Death would be merciful. Just make it stop.

"Take him out. Let's see if he's ready to talk." That was the first voice he'd heard in a fortnight. Mickey once would have been grateful for this interruption, but it was the same as everything else now. Everything was the same. The only world he'd come to know was one of pain and that song.

"Tell me again, who are you working for?"
"I'm not telling you anything." Mickey answered. A maniacal giggle escaped his lips. They think they're so great. Well, I'm the one who has information. Without me, they're useless. Silly police. They think they can outsmart me. Well guess what, suckers! I'm Mickey, and you're going down!
"He's still not ready to talk. Back to solitary confinement."
Mickey's eyes widened as the sack was placed over his head. He let out muffled screams, writhing in his seat. Hot tears streamed down his face. No. NO! THEY CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! NOT AGAIN! LET ME GO, YOU BASTARDS!

HEY! JINGLE BELLS! JINGLE BELLS! JINGLE ALL- Get out. Now. Music. Not again. Bad music. Help me. Don't know where I am. What time? Family. Family miss me. Help. Please quiet. No music. Not music. Kill. Kill me. Now. Let go. Let it go. Hehe. Let it goooo, let it gooo- THE WAY! OH WHAT FUN IT IS TO RIDE- NO! Please. Anyone. Anyone there? Help me. Stop this. Kill. Kill good. Kill me good. Kill others. Help. Please. Mickey screamed through his muzzle, along with the other prisoners held there.