1. Your presence is palpable
2. you interrogated me
3. It’s a prison planet isn’t it?

Your presence is palpable

I know you are here, next to me, or not far from me. Your presence is palpable: I sense you, your searching mind, your silent words I can hear in my mind, even, sometime in my sleep, I can feel your fingers on me, softly probing me. But I cannot see you. Your presence is invisible.

I know a few things: that you pulled me out of that pit of horrors, where they hanged me by my wrists, after abusing and beaten me to the extent that I can feel, even now, several weeks later, the cuts and bruises, on my legs, between my thighs, around my vulva, everywhere. I also know that you have been watching over my sleep, here in this cell, and also when you told them to take me to hospital, when you feared for my life.

you interrogated me

I do not know what your presence means, other than you want something from me. I know you are a special spy, a high ranking one. But what do you want to learn fro me, that you don’t know already? In the few days when I was between life and death, you interrogated me, not violently, or at least not physically. I know. You hypnotised me, or I was simply unable to resist to your questions. Perhaps that’s the result of these drugs dissipating after all. So I told you what I knew, of me, my identity, my birth, where I came from.

Your presence may be telling me that you knew all this, but it confirmed I was not lying, and so, you kept me alive. Then I know that you can have me destroyed, any time you wish. But I wonder. I think, it’s a guess, that what you and the others, are really interested in, is the training I received, my conditioning. What made me resist those thugs, those brutes, despite everything they did to me. That’s what attracted your attention, as I understand you, or your minions, know everything that  is happening in this place, this haunted building.

It’s a prison planet isn’t it?

I know, a little, where we are, and why you are here. It’s a prison planet isn’t it? And you are in charge of extracting as much intelligence as is useful to your masters from those people who sooner or later will die here, isn’t that right? So, I am nervous, your invisible presence  made me nervous, unsure of what will come next for me. Yet, at the same time, your presence reassures me, in a strange way. Feeling you there, your words, your touch, proves to me I am still alive, and you must be still interested in keeping me that way. 

This morning someone brought me clean clothes, and my new overall, the prisoner outfit, bright green, with all sorts of signs and numbers. They told me the meaning of them all, and I can’t remember them, at the moment, although I have recorded them.

There is my number as an inmate, my ID, unique to me, there is the logo of my cell, same as on the band they fitted to my ankle, which allows you, I think, to know where I am at all times, there there is the sign and code that tells the others that I belong to you, body and soul, that I am your slave and sexual object, forbidden to anyone else. I was told of this, before they gave me another injection that will send me to sleep for hours, before you ask more questions. Am I your sex toy? Is this my destiny in this forgotten place?

But I am told now you will come and see me this evening, when I wake up. They will wash me, get me ready for you, the guards will stand to attention when you arrive. I belong to you, I feel your presence, as if I hoped you would be my protector. Isn’t this what you said, when you got me down from that butcher hook in the pit?

I fear your presence, but I want it, I need it.

Inspired by this short story

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