Day #30: The 7th Street Prison

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 1

I don’t know what they’ve done to me. I find myself unable to move. My vision is blurry. Somehow they’re sustaining me with some warm formulation. I am exhausted. I can’t even lift my head. They must have drugged me.

I can’t remember how I got here.

Nothing is making sense.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 26

I can now recognize the prison guards. They respond to stimulai. They must be trying to keep me healthy for some kind of show trial. When I complain about a lack of nutrition or sanitation they help me.

I am still unable to move, or even focus.

I can see faces. I can understand when they are pleased with me. I am a prisoner, I will resist pleasing them.

I can’t imagine what they’ve done to me – or why.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 63

I am just barely able to lift my head. I still can not understand their speech. Shapes, and even time, are confusing for me. I am far from offering a proper resistance, much less thinking of escape. I can’t imagine how much more of this I must endure.

At least I am putting on weight.

The guards are beginning to ignore me more. They must calculate that I am healthy enough to survive without their constant support.

Perhaps there is hope.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 87

I ceaselessly protest my incarceration, but they do not seem to care. When I acknowledge their munificence, they reward me.

I can not allow myself to be corrupted.

I am still tired, but I protest more.

I am able to get onto my front without help. It takes every ounce of my strength.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 116

My resistance is yielding. I find myself desiring their praise and approbation. I find myself – although I am ashamed to admit it – willingly entertaining my captors. Perhaps I am suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

I can see and understand more. But every time I try to grasp how things are fitting together, they just seem to drift apart. It is all so complex. Even if I manage to physically resist – I don’t know how I can formulate a proper plan of escape.

I try, regularly, to remind myself that I must fight them. But it is getting harder by the day.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 138

I am regaining the use of my hands. They have begun to feed me more. Just gruel for now – but it is an improvement.

I feel like I am being brainwashed. Despite my best attempts, I am beginning to like my captors.

Perhaps with time I will reacquire my strength.

I saw myself in a mirror. I had to laugh.

Something is terribly wrong.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 180

I sat up.

I am identifying with my captors. I know so little. Other’s frighten me.

Perhaps I will never escape.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 225

I can move, finally.

I am reminded of my captivity.

I try, hourly, to escape.

But I am no match for those who are holding me; they recapture me as if it is a game.

My vision is finally unimpaired.

My speech is incomprehensible – but I am trying.

I hope to connect with other prisoners. I still hold out hope of escape.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 251

They reward me by giving me objects. They punish me by taking them away. I respond.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 287

I love my captors. They are teaching me to walk.

They are kind and generous.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 323

When they leave, I protest. I am overcome with joy at their return.

Prisoner’s Diary – Day 365

I have learned their names.

I speak them proudly, and repetitively.

“Ma Ma” and “Da Da”

I resist escape.