We wake up and our shirt collar and the sheets under us are damp with sweat. It’s the middle of the night. Do we really care what time it is? No.
It’s 3:13 a.m. The wind is howling, rumbling like a train, making the walls crack and screech.
The second our eyes open, Mr. Shit Fuckwad I starts up with our heart again. He’s been at it for 3 days now, small breaks in between. Sometimes he does it so hard it makes us dizzy. Acrobatic heart, inside its small cage. Bouncing off the metal bars. Our chest sometimes turns cold. This is the worst it’s ever been.
But we probably won’t die.
Do you think he will kill us?
No. I don’t know. Maybe.
Stanley can always cut him off if it gets to an emergency.
But what if he misses it? What if it’s an instant where he’s busy with something? What if Mr. Shit Fuckwad I plans it for a moment when Stanley is indisposed?
Stanley will catch it. He won’t let that happen.
Mr. Shit is slamming our heart into itself again. There’s that hot warp-speed sensation inside our flipping chest. Our breath catches. Our heart is innocent, helpless, our brain telling us we’re drowning.
breathe
breathe
breathe
Try to sit up.
You need water. You’re going to pass out, go unconscious. You can’t move.
Cold water, please.
You can’t get up. Lie back down.
breathe breathe breathe breathe don’t stop breathing until you can’t anymore
If you lie down and close your eyes, you’ll go unconscious, and then you can’t record yourself so they know Mr. Shit murdered you.
Lie down, eyes open. Record.
Our heart. Somersaulting, cartwheeling, beating against the bars of its cage, stuttering, freezing, stopping, stopping, restarting, flipping.
And the dizziness. And the gray of wet cement around your eyes, your head is floating, your blood pressure is dropping.
Your blood pressure is dropping!
call 911
breathe
Don’t call. Don’t get Pam. You can’t move anyway. Stanley knows. He’s right above us. He’ll protect us. He’ll make sure we’re okay if we pass out.
Your blood pressure is still dropping. And dropping. You’re going out. Your power is almost gone. Soon you won’t be moving at all even to try to find some comfortable position inside your body while you’re being murdered.
Try to sit up. You can’t.
Stanley will get us. It’s okay.
Darker and darker.
breathe
Your control is going.
Our chest is like ice. Burning ice spreading through our shoulders and the blackness closing around our eyes.
Suddenly your voice though you don’t remember deciding to speak.
“Stanley!” Whining. “I’m scaaaaarrrrrred, Stanley!” The pathetic terror in your voice.
Is this our moment? Are we going this soon?
breathe
“I’m scaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrred, Stanley!” you cry again.
breathe breathe liebacktrytoreleaseyourbodygiveintotheweaknessandcloseyoureyes
Close your eyes. Your skin is saturated. Pull off the covers that you’re tangled up in. Expose your clammy skin to the frigid air.
breathe
Finally. Some mercy. Mr. Shit is relenting. The ice is still in our chest. Our blood pressure is stabilizing, our heart beating normally.
breathe
Let the cold air move over your wet skin and pull you back to survival.
We are alive.
breathe
We survived.
breathe
He will do it again.
breathe
No one is coming to save us.
Diana Spindler 