Extremeophile
Avatar of a Multiverse
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2020
Jack sat on the cold steel floor of his cell, his back leaning up against the foot of the recliner which was bolted to the floor behind him. No one had named him Jack, it was a name he had given himself long ago after he had read it in a book and decided that he deserved a name just as much as anyone else did. It was just another day in here, wherever here was. There were no windows to the outside, and no ability to know what was really going on out there in the world. That was the worst part about it. He had seen television shows that had taken place in all kinds of places, but there was no way to know just how futuristic the world was outside. Was there still a civilization or was this some post apocalyptic world? Was he being imprisoned by other humans, aliens, or maybe robots? Were people out there living their lives not knowing about him, or did everyone know about him? It was the not knowing that was the worst part for Jack. For him, nothing existed outside of these four walls, the small 600 square foot room had been his whole life, his whole world, his known universe. Sitting in his memories surrounded by a void of knowledge.
And today, nothing was on. At least right now there wasn't. He was watching a rerun of some Star Trek episode he had already seen before, getting up from where he was sitting to desperately press the + button which was an indentation on the wall in front of him to try to find something. Even worse, there was no channel down button, so if he wanted to look for something else to watch he would have to press the button another 70 times to get back to what he had been watching. The worst was when he would accidentally miss it pressing the button repeatedly to try to get back quickly enough to not miss anything. Sometimes he would miss more than once, shut the screen off and throw something at the wall uselessly. All of his tantrums, flailing, screaming, and crying never resulted in anything. It always ended with him alone in his room with only himself for comfort.
He looks down at himself, not much of an opportunity for exercise, but also with a diet that didn't provide him with processed foods. He would occasionally get salads, steaks, pasta, pizza, and those kinds of things but it was always balanced for him and his only choice would be to eat it or not. He had tried not eating once. They had some way of knocking him unconcious whenever they wanted. He would wake up with sharp pains in his nose and throat and a full stomach, and if he tried to puke the mush they had forced down his throat they would just put it back. There were no fixtures to hang himself from, and his teen years had been brutal with his attempts to do something to end his life, to escape. Anything but being stuck here as a tool for someone else. He wondered what it was like to wear clothes, to go out, to touch someone else, he wanted to be a person instead of someone's pet or experiment or whatever he was in here. Instead it was only himself, a miserable amount of boredom, and being resigned to his fate that there was no way out.
And today, nothing was on. At least right now there wasn't. He was watching a rerun of some Star Trek episode he had already seen before, getting up from where he was sitting to desperately press the + button which was an indentation on the wall in front of him to try to find something. Even worse, there was no channel down button, so if he wanted to look for something else to watch he would have to press the button another 70 times to get back to what he had been watching. The worst was when he would accidentally miss it pressing the button repeatedly to try to get back quickly enough to not miss anything. Sometimes he would miss more than once, shut the screen off and throw something at the wall uselessly. All of his tantrums, flailing, screaming, and crying never resulted in anything. It always ended with him alone in his room with only himself for comfort.
He looks down at himself, not much of an opportunity for exercise, but also with a diet that didn't provide him with processed foods. He would occasionally get salads, steaks, pasta, pizza, and those kinds of things but it was always balanced for him and his only choice would be to eat it or not. He had tried not eating once. They had some way of knocking him unconcious whenever they wanted. He would wake up with sharp pains in his nose and throat and a full stomach, and if he tried to puke the mush they had forced down his throat they would just put it back. There were no fixtures to hang himself from, and his teen years had been brutal with his attempts to do something to end his life, to escape. Anything but being stuck here as a tool for someone else. He wondered what it was like to wear clothes, to go out, to touch someone else, he wanted to be a person instead of someone's pet or experiment or whatever he was in here. Instead it was only himself, a miserable amount of boredom, and being resigned to his fate that there was no way out.