A year in solitary

They think I don’t know what they did to me. What they’re doing to me. But I do, I DO. I know exactly what those bastards are up to and when I get out, there is going to be a million different flavours of hell to pay.

I know they think I don’t know. People have always thought I was stupid just because I am a homely woman with a speed impediment. But I read. I read all the time. I keep up on all kind of stuff. And so I know exactly what kind of bullshit they are up to.

It has to be that bitch Wendy Silcowicz’ fault. I’m in that fucked up brain machine of hers. I always thought her work was creepy as hell, messing with people’s sense of time and state of consciousness. She said it was to give terminally ill patients more time to live, but we know differently now, don’t we?

Doesn’t take a genius level IQ to figure out a technology like that is going to be used to hurt people. So I am sure that when miss Lady Brain Scientist with the tits out to here came to the government and told them that her device could make someone experience a year in solitary confinement in just twenty minutes, they practically jizzed for joy. Think of all the money they could save on prisons this way! And after all, it was quite “humane”. No walls, no cells, no shower rape, no nasty images to make people question the justice of the system. Just me on a nice clean hospital bed with inducing goggles (just like the ones you use at home, folks!) over my eyes.

Why, I am sure it looks like nothing more than a brief and pleasant nap. The bastards.

The reality of it is that I have been awake 24 hours a day with nothing to do and nobody to talk to for a long time now. How long? Well, the walls I see around me are dark green now, so according to my friend Roy G. Biv, a bit over six months, give or take a subjective day or two.

Sounds really cruel, doesn’t it? You could never get away with this in the real world. Keep a person in solitary confinement with no exercise, no entertainment, and neither food nor water for a whole year? The rights organizations would shit themselves.

But according to the law, my sentence is only twenty minutes long. By that measure, I am getting off super easy for two “murders” (hey, they’re both still alive… technically…. ) so everyone is just fine with it.

In fact, I am sure there’s a lot of beer-swilling pigs out there who think I deserve a lot more punishment for my crimes than just “laying down for twenty minutes”.

Fucking idiots. I know their kind all too well. Livers like raisins and mouths like assholes, shitting out their disgusting opinions day and night like they got diarrhea of the brain.

Just like my Dad.

Whether or not I come out of my “nap” completely and irrevocably insane doesn’t matter to those jiggling lumps of fat and gristle. Well I’ll show all those assholes, and the pricks that put me in this cage.

From this point on, I will write as much as I possibly can every singe day. They left me that, the fools. I can think-type into a file and that file will get saved in that bitch’s machine.

Maybe they had to do that to meet some obscure legal requirement, but it will be the tool of their own undoing. When I am finally let out of this mind jail, I will have written millions of words, and after that, this game they are playing where they pretend like it’s “not so bad” because it’s “only twenty minutes” will be over.

If I had time to write all those words, then it really was a year in solitary and what they did to me was unbelievably wrong. Right now (so to speak), the public isn’t sure. But once they see my words, there will be no more room for doubt.

All I have to do is stay strong and keep writing.

Oh, and for the record, no, I don’t regret doing what I did. Not one tiny shiny whiny bit. Pressing the button that wiped the minds of the bitch who betrayed me and the piece of cock who stole her away was the happiest moment of my life.

She’s the one who led me on. She’s the one who made me think I could trust her, tell her everything, share my apartment and my bed with her, raise a dog with her, even let her see the pig and cow who raised me, or at least didn’t quite kill me.

Then this handsome asshole with the killer smile and nine inch cock comes along, and it’s like I never existed. Sure, living with me isn’t easy… I’m the first to admit that. But that’s no excuse for her to leave me alone… again.

And the thought of that smug motherfucker sticking his piece of pork into her makes me so disgusted and angry that I just want to push that button over and over again for the rest of my life.

My lawyers tried to make it like it was a momentary slip of reason and conscience, and in a way they were right. I didn’t plan it. I hadn’t even formed the intention to harm them in any way before that fateful day.

But then there I was, in the control room, and there they were, in the air field induction chamber, and there was the button I could press to send way, way too much current through their brains.

My only defense is that I didn’t think it would fry their brains permanently. I thought it would just cause them a lot of pain but not permanent damage. I wanted them to suffer, not die.

But I guess that’s why I am the technician and engineer for other people’s inventions.

So now the question is : would I have done it if I had known the truth?

And the answer is… yeah, I probably would have.

But I would have felt bad about it after.

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