FurryFury
04-20-2006, 08:18 PM
Back In The Court of the Magician:
Darkness and its simple relief wrapped in nothingness were ripped painfully from me. Where was I? I was being hit in the chest. I was gagging. I was coughing. Ow! Pain bloomed in my throat as something was shoved down it. Was I in hell? The burning in my throat and the heat of my skin seemed to indicate I was.
Slowly I began to realize just how close I had come to dying. I hadn’t planned it. When I keened that I was alive, I felt a surprising relief. I also felt angry. How dare they rob me of my peace? I hadn’t planned to die but the darkness had been soothing and without pain of any kind. Now I was in the harsh light and pain burned in me, again.
Still I didn’t know where I was. It didn’t seem like hell now because there was a smell that hospitals had, hell wouldn’t smell like that would it? It might, I thought wryly to myself. The people, looked like nurses and doctors not demons and devils. Had Ian rushed to help me? Did he send these medical people?
I was angry too with myself. Why should I want to die for some man who didn’t truly care about me? No matter what he said or did, he couldn’t have truly cared not if he would send me away. Maybe now he would really care and keep me? I wished for that but part of me said he didn’t deserve me now. I also felt I never would deserve to be loved and cared for the way I wanted. Who or what decides if you are worthy or not, I wondered? If it is only myself, I don’t think I will ever feel I am entitled. It was so much better when I thought Ian found me worthwhile.
I cried then. It hurt because my rib cage and everything beneath it was sore but I could only cry bitter sobbing tears, railing against Ian, love, life and myself. I cried often and for long bouts in those days. If not for the IV drip I surely would not have had enough fluids in me to keep on with all the tears I shed. My already abused throat felt all the worse from the nearly constant stream of tears. It seemed to me that my emotions made my esophagus feel even hotter and sorer but I couldn’t stop feeling so hurt or crying.
I could hear people talking from time to time. I could hear machines whirling and hissing. Rarely could I make out who the people were or what they were saying. The few times I could make out their words, the information was lost again whenever I tried to remember it later. Their words like their footsteps seemed to be only temporary sounds signifying nothing terribly important to me.
I don’t know how long I was out of it. I don’t know a lot of things from that time. I remember being very confused. I would think one minute I was in my rooms with Ian and the next that I was free or in a hospital. Time flowed in a pattern I could neither discern nor did I care to examine because I had nothing left, everything was meaningless to me, except the abject misery I felt. I was so tired all the time. I felt so slow and heavy. Nothing was worthwhile to me right then.
What I eventually became aware of was that I was in some sort of medical facility. That gave me some small measure of hope. I was in a public place. That meant I might be free but I was too tired to do much about it. I still had machines helping me breathe, feeding me fluids and other nutrients as well, by the sound I could tell my heart rate was being monitored.
Medical personnel closely monitored me in person as well. In fact, it was hard to sleep because one of them would come in to fool with me in some damned way. I grew tired of blood being drawn, the squeezing of the blood pressure cuff and endless “we” comments. I wanted to swat them away like flies. I wanted to say just let me be, I’ll take my chances. It’s easy to gamble when you don’t much care about the results but the thrill of the game is gone too.
There was a man that came to talk with me everyday. He seemed familiar to me but I couldn’t figure out how for a long time. At first he would talk to me. I could only write because there was a tube down my throat. Even writing tired me out quickly then. Eventually I realized that what he seemed to be doing with me was what we would today call psychotherapy. At that time I simply didn’t care what he wanted. I didn’t question his interest very much. I needed to talk too badly.
As my throat, lungs and emotions would let me, I did just that. I was so mixed up, so hurt. I felt so abandoned that I was eager to be listened to but it wasn’t the same as when Ian listened to me or talked with me. There was no feeling, false or not, of love or caring coming from this man. I found that felt safer in a way but I missed the dream of what Ian and I once had or what I’d hoped we had. I missed it with a nearly physical ache that rattled my soul.
He was far more detached than Ian. My croaking must have been as painful to listen to at first, as it was for me to make, but listen he did. He was so detached; at least it seemed that way to me that I didn’t realize he was working toward a goal. If I had known this simple fact, which I admit should have been obvious, or what his goal was, I would not have been so forthcoming. His goals were not mine. In fact, it turned out he was my enemy though it could be said he helped to put me back together emotionally. He helped me care about myself again and want to live again but I’m not sure that was a good thing.
It took me a while to remember exactly who he was. He was one of my original abductors. The one I’d thought of as The Magician. You may remember me writing about him before. The one who thought he was David Copperfield or something. He was the one with the knife and my clothes, doing what seemed to be, in his mind, almost like magic tricks. I hated him.
Before I figured that out, I poured out my heart to him. Little by little as my throat got better I told him everything that mattered about what had happened. Eventually I was better. The machines were removed day by day. My voice and my strength got better, the soreness faded. I was able to feed myself though food didn’t really appeal. I was able to go to the bathroom on my own eventually though they kept me tied to bed until I rang for help as if they were afraid I’d do something bad.
I was moved then to a sort of padded cell. It was a step up from the machines and being tied to a bed. It meant that at least physically I was better. I think now that I must have been under a suicide watch of sorts. At the time I had far fewer questions or points of reference except the constant questions of why didn’t Ian love me truly, enough to keep me? I also now loathed The Magician. I knew he was cruel and didn’t care for me as a person at all.
I felt, after a while that the people here only cared about me the way a farmer would care about a pig, cow, chicken or crop. You know, as something that meant money to them when they killed it. It seemed to me they were arguing about me and perhaps even about Ian early on, but that was probably my imagination. I really don’t think I was ever that important to them.
I’m not sure how long it took from the time I started the fire in my rooms to the time I was judged ready for conditioning. Even now my thoughts of that time are muddled at best. The food I’d had while physically ill and sick at heart just stopped one day. I wondered why but no one would answer my questions when they checked on me now. I felt diminished in some way. As if I’d lost some unnamed part of myself. They did however give me a little liquid to drink several times a day. It was watery but water wasn’t all that was in it. I was sure of it. Still, what choice did I have? I don’t know what all was in it but I was so thirsty I would have thanked them for anything. I still felt hungry and just, needy but I wasn’t sure what I was needy for exactly either.
Little by little I felt a strange interest in sex again. It wasn’t as if I wanted to go there really. My body though seemed to be more and more ready without my mind being a willing part of the equation. I knew I was on camera and I didn’t want to be seen doing anything. At the time I thought they were assuming I was nuts. I hoped to be able to get out someday. I didn’t want to give them any ammunition to keep me there. So I never tried to masturbate or take care of my needs in anyway.
A few days later I found myself in the “conditioning” room again, the room that I’d first been taken to after I was abducted. As the orderlies strapped me to the device this second time, I went numb. I wasn’t in a hospital after all, the whole time I’d been in the Magician’s Court. I’d thought there might be a way out but now I wasn’t so sure at all. I felt hopelessness dragging me down again.
I waited there in the darkness. My hospital gown was open in the back. The coolness of the air and the device I was strapped to made me feel so vulnerable. Of course that was no illusion I was completely vulnerable. I thought about the Lady who had come for me once and wished for her. She’d been nicer to me than my abductors. I’d lick her shoes again, or do most anything she wanted, if only she would come into the room and not that pack of jackals. My heart was beating wildly as I prayed for her or someone gentle and loving soul to come in. Ian’s words, echoed in my mind. “You need it rougher.”
The light snapped on, blinding me. My heart rate increased from apprehension and hope. I tried to see who had come into the room. I heard several different food steps at least two sets, maybe more. I wanted to sob but held myself in check while my hopes plummeted.
“Now, we’ve been here before haven’t we?” A voice said. The voice was as smooth as a snake.
Darkness and its simple relief wrapped in nothingness were ripped painfully from me. Where was I? I was being hit in the chest. I was gagging. I was coughing. Ow! Pain bloomed in my throat as something was shoved down it. Was I in hell? The burning in my throat and the heat of my skin seemed to indicate I was.
Slowly I began to realize just how close I had come to dying. I hadn’t planned it. When I keened that I was alive, I felt a surprising relief. I also felt angry. How dare they rob me of my peace? I hadn’t planned to die but the darkness had been soothing and without pain of any kind. Now I was in the harsh light and pain burned in me, again.
Still I didn’t know where I was. It didn’t seem like hell now because there was a smell that hospitals had, hell wouldn’t smell like that would it? It might, I thought wryly to myself. The people, looked like nurses and doctors not demons and devils. Had Ian rushed to help me? Did he send these medical people?
I was angry too with myself. Why should I want to die for some man who didn’t truly care about me? No matter what he said or did, he couldn’t have truly cared not if he would send me away. Maybe now he would really care and keep me? I wished for that but part of me said he didn’t deserve me now. I also felt I never would deserve to be loved and cared for the way I wanted. Who or what decides if you are worthy or not, I wondered? If it is only myself, I don’t think I will ever feel I am entitled. It was so much better when I thought Ian found me worthwhile.
I cried then. It hurt because my rib cage and everything beneath it was sore but I could only cry bitter sobbing tears, railing against Ian, love, life and myself. I cried often and for long bouts in those days. If not for the IV drip I surely would not have had enough fluids in me to keep on with all the tears I shed. My already abused throat felt all the worse from the nearly constant stream of tears. It seemed to me that my emotions made my esophagus feel even hotter and sorer but I couldn’t stop feeling so hurt or crying.
I could hear people talking from time to time. I could hear machines whirling and hissing. Rarely could I make out who the people were or what they were saying. The few times I could make out their words, the information was lost again whenever I tried to remember it later. Their words like their footsteps seemed to be only temporary sounds signifying nothing terribly important to me.
I don’t know how long I was out of it. I don’t know a lot of things from that time. I remember being very confused. I would think one minute I was in my rooms with Ian and the next that I was free or in a hospital. Time flowed in a pattern I could neither discern nor did I care to examine because I had nothing left, everything was meaningless to me, except the abject misery I felt. I was so tired all the time. I felt so slow and heavy. Nothing was worthwhile to me right then.
What I eventually became aware of was that I was in some sort of medical facility. That gave me some small measure of hope. I was in a public place. That meant I might be free but I was too tired to do much about it. I still had machines helping me breathe, feeding me fluids and other nutrients as well, by the sound I could tell my heart rate was being monitored.
Medical personnel closely monitored me in person as well. In fact, it was hard to sleep because one of them would come in to fool with me in some damned way. I grew tired of blood being drawn, the squeezing of the blood pressure cuff and endless “we” comments. I wanted to swat them away like flies. I wanted to say just let me be, I’ll take my chances. It’s easy to gamble when you don’t much care about the results but the thrill of the game is gone too.
There was a man that came to talk with me everyday. He seemed familiar to me but I couldn’t figure out how for a long time. At first he would talk to me. I could only write because there was a tube down my throat. Even writing tired me out quickly then. Eventually I realized that what he seemed to be doing with me was what we would today call psychotherapy. At that time I simply didn’t care what he wanted. I didn’t question his interest very much. I needed to talk too badly.
As my throat, lungs and emotions would let me, I did just that. I was so mixed up, so hurt. I felt so abandoned that I was eager to be listened to but it wasn’t the same as when Ian listened to me or talked with me. There was no feeling, false or not, of love or caring coming from this man. I found that felt safer in a way but I missed the dream of what Ian and I once had or what I’d hoped we had. I missed it with a nearly physical ache that rattled my soul.
He was far more detached than Ian. My croaking must have been as painful to listen to at first, as it was for me to make, but listen he did. He was so detached; at least it seemed that way to me that I didn’t realize he was working toward a goal. If I had known this simple fact, which I admit should have been obvious, or what his goal was, I would not have been so forthcoming. His goals were not mine. In fact, it turned out he was my enemy though it could be said he helped to put me back together emotionally. He helped me care about myself again and want to live again but I’m not sure that was a good thing.
It took me a while to remember exactly who he was. He was one of my original abductors. The one I’d thought of as The Magician. You may remember me writing about him before. The one who thought he was David Copperfield or something. He was the one with the knife and my clothes, doing what seemed to be, in his mind, almost like magic tricks. I hated him.
Before I figured that out, I poured out my heart to him. Little by little as my throat got better I told him everything that mattered about what had happened. Eventually I was better. The machines were removed day by day. My voice and my strength got better, the soreness faded. I was able to feed myself though food didn’t really appeal. I was able to go to the bathroom on my own eventually though they kept me tied to bed until I rang for help as if they were afraid I’d do something bad.
I was moved then to a sort of padded cell. It was a step up from the machines and being tied to a bed. It meant that at least physically I was better. I think now that I must have been under a suicide watch of sorts. At the time I had far fewer questions or points of reference except the constant questions of why didn’t Ian love me truly, enough to keep me? I also now loathed The Magician. I knew he was cruel and didn’t care for me as a person at all.
I felt, after a while that the people here only cared about me the way a farmer would care about a pig, cow, chicken or crop. You know, as something that meant money to them when they killed it. It seemed to me they were arguing about me and perhaps even about Ian early on, but that was probably my imagination. I really don’t think I was ever that important to them.
I’m not sure how long it took from the time I started the fire in my rooms to the time I was judged ready for conditioning. Even now my thoughts of that time are muddled at best. The food I’d had while physically ill and sick at heart just stopped one day. I wondered why but no one would answer my questions when they checked on me now. I felt diminished in some way. As if I’d lost some unnamed part of myself. They did however give me a little liquid to drink several times a day. It was watery but water wasn’t all that was in it. I was sure of it. Still, what choice did I have? I don’t know what all was in it but I was so thirsty I would have thanked them for anything. I still felt hungry and just, needy but I wasn’t sure what I was needy for exactly either.
Little by little I felt a strange interest in sex again. It wasn’t as if I wanted to go there really. My body though seemed to be more and more ready without my mind being a willing part of the equation. I knew I was on camera and I didn’t want to be seen doing anything. At the time I thought they were assuming I was nuts. I hoped to be able to get out someday. I didn’t want to give them any ammunition to keep me there. So I never tried to masturbate or take care of my needs in anyway.
A few days later I found myself in the “conditioning” room again, the room that I’d first been taken to after I was abducted. As the orderlies strapped me to the device this second time, I went numb. I wasn’t in a hospital after all, the whole time I’d been in the Magician’s Court. I’d thought there might be a way out but now I wasn’t so sure at all. I felt hopelessness dragging me down again.
I waited there in the darkness. My hospital gown was open in the back. The coolness of the air and the device I was strapped to made me feel so vulnerable. Of course that was no illusion I was completely vulnerable. I thought about the Lady who had come for me once and wished for her. She’d been nicer to me than my abductors. I’d lick her shoes again, or do most anything she wanted, if only she would come into the room and not that pack of jackals. My heart was beating wildly as I prayed for her or someone gentle and loving soul to come in. Ian’s words, echoed in my mind. “You need it rougher.”
The light snapped on, blinding me. My heart rate increased from apprehension and hope. I tried to see who had come into the room. I heard several different food steps at least two sets, maybe more. I wanted to sob but held myself in check while my hopes plummeted.
“Now, we’ve been here before haven’t we?” A voice said. The voice was as smooth as a snake.