The memories stagger in upon me chaotically, as in a dream. Insects stinging, drawing blood. My hands, my breasts, trapped in unyielding metal. My movements secured with hooks buried deep inside my body: I am filled, I am owned. I walk like a marionette, with every step the hooks pull with cruelty inside my ass and my pussy. When I am released it is only to be stretched over a log and staked out in the grass; again I am left vulnerable, unable to protect myself from insects, biting my open body. My head secured in place with stakes and a gag. Shrieking as a worm is dangled over my face, crawling into my nose, squirming its slippery flesh over my tongue and my lips. And yet one memory towers above the rest of my torment; he called it the mala mansio.
In the box – this mind is a shell. Where is my torrent of dream? Here is the silence that follows the thunder and blood? I breathe in this space, four corners no light – four corners that bind me and I am strapped into this place. I am held here like a moon in helpless orbit.
My voice echoes so strangely from these aggressive corners. Every moment my panic threatens to overtake and drown me.
He has kicked the door shut: the echo surges through my naked body. Some booming metal doom. And now – the moving pictures? The glory I was drenched in? My eyes are open but there is only darkness.
The warped dreams begin: weird worlds for reflections to inhabit. They stomp over my fear; leave me restless, electric. This girl in the box- slippery and throbbing: can it be? I envy the moment of my recognition, some towering bliss. Rusty walls tremble upon me. My fingers reek animal fear. Hell is so small.
I lean over the precipice of some dangerous understanding. The red drums And roarings seem so far away; is someone there? A voice rings hysterical – A scream: my own?
This haze somehow soothing- the metallic womb. I float free from the Ropes and tangles, free from the traps of reason. Free of any will: but this I have chosen.
