Soliloquies In The Night

 

  

While undergoing extensive research into the bombing of Hathstuck Prison we were fortunate to discover this outstanding journal. It is a tale of one man’s grief and is published here in its entirety.

 

Woke up from my sleep and noticed the pen and paper. I can’t write all that well because I have these heavy weights on my wrists. The last entry I was able to put in my journal was about three years ago. I had to kiss the shoes of my cell guard in order to get the date of today. I can’t really remember anything of the last three years since I was put in here; it all seems like such a big dream. I would think that they kept me sedated most of the time but I just don’t (or can’t) remember. My writing arm, my left arm, is cramping up from its sudden usage so I will try this again later.

 

 

The cell guard came down with my dinner. It smelled awful and looked and tasted like sewage. I suppose that that’s what they have been feeding me for the last three years so I can’t complain about its nutritional value. I still have to force myself to eat it without vomiting though.

 

 

I hope that they don’t take away my paper and pen; I won’t stay sane without them. I am at least grateful that they sedated me for most of the time I have been here. I can only write when they are out of the area because I am not allowed to write negative feelings or opinions about the Reich. I suppose they caught me in a trap this time. Maybe I can get away with keeping this sheet in my hiding place. That is the only place or thing about me that they don’t know about. I guess that I dug it into the wallboards underneath my bed while I was under the effects of the drugs they gave me. I only remember that because I... I forget.

 

 

This is my only hard evidence of what they are doing to me. I sometimes remember bits of ideas that seem like dreams. I can’t place where or when they happened. I only know that they did.

 

 

Thank God I’m almost a free man. They say that the war is almost over and that I will be released soon. But I know now that almost everything that I hear from them is a lie anyways, so I can’t be sure. Maybe I am just getting my hopes up. So many thin...

 

They almost found the sheet. I heard someone coming and hid the paper under a few of the blank sheets that I was given. On the ground in front of me I put my flowery page. It is just a collection of comments that I wrote out such as ‘This prison is really nice’ and ‘Hitler has been gracious to me’ to make them confused and send more paper and pens (and possibly better food) down to me.

 

 

I ate some more and remember more. I can now remember what my family was like before I left them. My children are now teenaged. God. It’s been a long time so far. The pain seems to ebb right before my meal twice a day. I think that the painkillers I am taking are coming from in the food, but I don’t know why they are in there. I know!! Someone in there is my friend, or as close as it can get in this type of situation. They must be sneaking a few pills into the meals so I don’t feel all of my agony.

 

 

I just tried to scratch my back and when I brought my hand down it was covered in slightly coagulated blood. I don’t want to know what they did to me to make me talk; I just don’t want to know.

 

 

My right hand has only three fingers, the thumb and the middle fingers have been snapped off at the first knuckle and haven’t had the chance to heal yet. It looks as if they were twisted off, or. ..

 

I just vomited in revulsion.

 

I never noticed this before either but I can’t see the tip of my nose. I felt for it and I just found more blood and rough tissue, God?! Give me a mirror so I can see what they have done to me! My fingers have gangrene and I am sure that my back is gaping also. I hope that they still think that I am right-handed so this hand will not be mutilated as my one has been.

 

A member of the ‘Hitler Youth’ just walked past the opening of my cell. He muttered and sneered at me. I can’t believe this... I feel as if I am an animal. They couldn’t really care about me, or about what they have done to me!

 

 

I am in so much pain. The painkillers are leaving my system now and I fear that they might be weakening. I might be building up an immunity against them which scares me. I can feel agonizing pain in my back, my face, my feet.. I am in ruins! This body had really been tortured and I can’t stand not knowing what I look like to others.

 

 

My writing hand is a lot stronger now and I thank God for that. They are going to bring in my dinner so I’ll write more later.

 

 

 

I now remember why I was thrown into this cell. The Reich wanted a spy. I volunteered and was a great ‘Servant of the Reich’ but was tempted into double-crossing and started to spy for both the Third Reich and the Allied Forces. As it is to be predicted, I was caught and stuck in here. That is all I can remember; it was all three years ago. This hell hole has taken away my livelihood. I already am 42, past the youth and innocence that I had known as a child. Even three years ago, before this all, I was still healthy.

Now I’m broken and battered. But they say that I can be free soon because the war is almost over.

 

A man named Georg Linder came into the prison block today. He wanted more information on what I was writing in my logs. I showed him the flowery sheet and he seemed pleased, except that he did not show it. I think that he’s the demon in charge of my imprisonment. He whipped my fingers and arms with his cruel horse-hair switch when I humbly asked for the sheet back. I have no more strength to write anymore today. Every day I pray to God that he will take my life away from this place. The pain that I am in is excruciating to say the least. I am starting to think that I will have to take my own life, which is starting to seem like a nice thought.

 

That swine-herder Linder came down to ‘visit’ again earlier this morning. He whipped me again, this time across my legs. I am now confined to these wooden planks they call a bed. How can he be so heartless and mean, my blood is so thin that when he whipped me I just watched it run out like water. My blood is very watery and not that red. My nose is really starting to hurt. I have only one sheet of paper left.

 

 

Georg almost killed me with his taunting today. He came down with about 500 sheets of paper and a few dozen pens. The smell from them was driving me crazy, as all the sheets were perfumed. He threw me one pen and said that if I ate it he would give me the rest of the paper and pens. I almost threw up on his beautiful spit-shined Jackboots, but stopped it just in time. I ended up swallowing most of the ink, although he didn’t make me eat the metal shell. I would rather die quickly rather than do this to myself I know now that they won’t let me outside of this cell or let me free. Georg gave me one sheet of paper but said that I wasted a piece of Reich property so I couldn’t get anything else for a few more days to teach me a lesson.

 

 

I refused to eat my dinner and poured it into the toilet. That is only a metal bucket on the ground in the corner, but it sounds nicer if it is called a toilet. It is emptied once a week, if that. I have been thinking of how I could commit suicide but I have nothing I could kill myself with. The deadliest thing here is my pen which couldn’t do that much unless I am precise. Still, that would be slow and painful… but not as bad as this.

 

 

Linder visited me today and I am almost too happy to write this down. He came back with the paper and the pens. Just as he was getting ready to whip me for ‘insolence towards the Reich’ I heard a loud boom. The entire place shook and Linder got a horrified look and then ran away, slamming the cell door behind him. I saw the prison walls start to cave in and so I hid underneath my cot. I was lucky because right then the complex collapsed. I think someone dropped a few bombs on us.

 

I was right about the bombs because I can hear more explosions farther away. I am trapped under my cot with these stones and rubble all around me. I am starting to hurt again and if my prediction about the painkillers in my food is correct, I am deep trouble. I can’t raise enough strength to lift the cement and plaster from all around and on top of me even though 1 have managed to dig a small hole in front of my eyes to see the outside world. I am stuck here for a long time, if not for life.

 

I can see the sky for the first time in over three years. I know that I will never be able to get out of here, even if someone does come along. They will just walk over me. thinking this is just another pile of garbage.. I don’t have enough strength to scream I’ve already tried.

 

My pen is running low so I will only write the few words that are necessary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Linder dropped the paper and the pens at the time of the blast but I can’t reach them. They are just 3 inches out of my reach and I can’t move that far. There are a few openings but the only parts that I can get out from under this cage are my hands. I think that I am dying. I feel nauseous and have soaked these rags in piss, blood and sweat. The painkillers from my last meal are entirely gone and all my aches and bruises are coming out to play. It is almost morning again. I have fallen asleep a few times while writing and now I can’t even move me head without crying out in pain. My pen is running out and I have some important information to write down so that I can get it off my conscience.

 

 

I tried to get the pens, and it hurt. If I can get one I will consider writing down my opinions.

The wind blew some loose paper and I’m really getting cold. I hope that I can last long enough to see the Allied forces move in to verify the bombing.

 

 

My leg was broken when the prison caved in but I didn’t realize that until I tried to move a chunk of metal and it just dragged around. I am caught lying down under this plank, I am hopeless. I can’t tell if it’s night or if it’s day because the shadows look all the same under here.

 

 

 

 

If anyone finds these I want them to know that I am dying alone and this is the cruelest way to die.

 

 

 

My arms are going weak, I am afraid that this is the en..

 

 

 

Pen died.  Will have to write cryptic.  Fear death as no more ink left.  Feel blood flowing out of broken body like ink from pen.  I’m only 42.

 

Only 42 !