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Prompt Three

Wednesday November 4, 2009

You wake up shackled to a chair and can’t remember how you got there. Two voices are talking. You recognize one of them.

A voice.  The sound of it exploded in her brain.  Sudden and sharp.  Where was she?   Her eyes ached for the light; struggled for it, but found only darkness.  The metal chair was cold and hard against her skin; she could feel chains biting her ankles.  Chains.  She was chained to a chair in the dark and none of this made any sense.

She had been reading a book about England in her old, blue chair.  Sinking into its familiar warmth, not resisting the weight of her eyelids.  It was unusual to be so sleepy so early in the day, but it was Saturday and the afternoon demanded nothing.  Nothing wrong with a nap.  Nothing at all.

But something was wrong.  Settling into that chair was the last thing she could remember.  An image of a busy street in London, the scent of Bobby’s aftershave, the breeze coming in from the open window, and now this.  Now she was here.  In the dark.  With only the distant hum of voices to assure her that she wasn’t dead.  That she might not know where she was, but that she was indeed somewhere.   With a jolt she realized that one might hear voices in heaven or hell or wherever it was people ended up, but no, these voices sounded familiar.  At least one of them did.

Now her ears took over where her eyes had left off.  They stretched and pulled and struggled against the quiet to make out what it was that she was hearing.  A conversation, she was sure of that.  The cadence of two voices weaving in and out of one another.  The pace of their words a rise and fall in the distance.  But what were they saying?  Her whole body strained towards those words.  Even her toes ached with the effort it.

A car door slammed.  Loud and fast.  The sound of an engine.  Tires on gravel, then the slow death of any sound at all.  Now there was nothing.  Silence.  Deep and loud somehow in her chest.  They were gone.  The voices had left and she was alone in this place.  In this chair.

“You alright?”

The voice sparked out of the darkness.  She did know it.

“Where am I?  What’s going on?”  Her words fired fast and frantic.  Rattling in her own ears.

“You can’t answer a question with a question”  the voice teased.  “You know that”.  “I asked whether you were alright.”

“Alright?!!”  “My legs are chained to this chair and I don’t know where I am or how I got here and it’s so dark in here that I can’t see my own arm, so no.  I am not alright, not even a little bit.”


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