Snippet #2509202

At first sight the cell seemed to be empty. The toilet stood in the corner and on the opposite side of the cell you could see a cot. The cell door could not be locked, although it could be seen as both a good thing or a bad thing. Once in you wanted out, but now, after what seemed an eternity, the longing for the outside world seemed to become an idea more than a reality. Lights went on and off in the cell and the rooms around it, like a lightning storm without the sounds. A lone sheet lay on the floor against the wall, whenever the light came back on in short intervals the sheet would move. Below it lay the thin, emaciated body of Marc Green.

After all this time being mentally and physically tortured it looked like more and more of his mind slipped away from him. Had he tried to solve maths problems to keep himself busy in the first few weeks, now he tried to replicate the childish philosophy of If I can't see you, you can't see me. The Man Upstairs knows his good moods and his bad ones, Marc had figured out that the bad moods far outweigh the good. He would try to always stay hidden, especially if the Man Upstairs would be in the courtyard.

The light switching on and off could mean so many things. In this basement nothing meant everything and everything meant nothing. There was no continuity or pattern in the Man's behaviour. After a few minutes of the light switching on and off, Marc could hear the door knob turning. Escaping had not come into Marc's mind for months. After the harsh treatment, abuse and low supply of food he simply did not have the energy, agility, speed or strength to escape from this basement. Either one of the newer kids would get out and get help or Marc would die in this place. Honestly, Marc wouldn't mind either solution at this point. It didn't really seem that anyone was looking for him, he would have been found by this time. He had not expected any other youngsters to look for him, it wasn't like he had any friends. However, he was very disappointed in his parents, he had expected, hoped and even prayed for them to come to his rescue. After days, weeks and now even months the hope had faded.

From outside he could hear the Man speak. "Good morning." It sounded nice, like many times before. But to Marc it sounded treacherous, mean, sarcastic and demonic. The sound of the Man's voice almost made Marc's heart stop, even though he already knew the Man was there. It was definitely fear for him that Marc felt. His voice, his behaviour, his words, his giving and more especially his taking were scaring the living crap out of him. If there had been any food in his stomach he might actually have crapped his pants then and there. Marc would not go to him, he would stay where he was right now.

"Time to eat, lovelies." Normally you're not allowed to say you're starving. At least that's what his parents had always told him. Kids in Africa were starving, kids in America could at most be ready for their next meal. Marc knew now that he could not agree on that rule. He was starving, the Man Upstairs had made this abundantly clear. Not giving them food for a week would starve anyone. And he was, the hunger had gotten to him the past two days. He thought about scratching the wall and eat any crumbs that came from it, even thought about eating his blanket, just to have something in his stomach. And even though the hunger was this bad, he would not go out of his cell to meet the Man.

He would wait for him to leave. Even if the others had had their share, Marc would go for the crumbs. He would even rather starve himself further than go out of his cell right now. He had been waiting for 5 months for something good to happen, but it hadn't happened yet. He would wait longer or die, it wasn't like he had any other choice.