Slurpees Are From Heaven
by Cameron Barrett
It was dark. As dark as I have ever known. I didn't know where I was and had no idea how I had gotten there. A search of my quarters revealed that I was in some kind of sealed box. Because my hands were bound, I could not remove the blindfold that was wrapped around my head, but by twisting my body around to its straining point I could push against the lid and receive a fresh supply of air. After the fuzzy cloud of near-consciousness cleared, I could think more clearly. I determined that I was in a refrigerator that was laid down on its back. It was the kind with a latch, which meant no escape on my part. I remember drifting in and out of consciousness, but that was probably because of the poor oxygen supply, not the large welts that I could feel on my skull. I pushed on the door as hard as I could until the air supply refreshed, and drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to find my hands untied and a couple pieces of bread with a bowl of water by my feet. I lunged for the bowl spilling more water than I could afford. After my meager meal, I kicked at the door repeatedly, but it was no use. They had put two more latches on the door and none of them were budging. I pounded on the door with both fists, but no one came running. I managed to get just enough air to breath before I went black once again.
Most of the time I spent in their captivity I spent thinking. Not about how to escape, but about my wife and kids and all those stupid little things you take for granted until you don't have them. I remember thinking about never being able to drink a slurpee from 7-11 again, and being mad about it. Its the trivial stuff that hurts. I'm tellin' ya now, if you didn't kiss your wife today before you went out, you might never be able to kiss her again, because you never know what might happen. You could be struck by lightning on your way to work or if you live in California...
I remember hearing a conversation outside my box and thinking that I might be able to gain somebody's attention. But I changed my mind and kept quiet. It went like this:
"...need somebody to talk to." He said.
"Yea, I'm bored and I don't get out of here til two." She said.
"Oh." He said. "If this were a meeting, then you'd be chairman of the bored."
She laughed and gave him a smile.
"Hey, are you almost done? I'm starving. Wanna go get somethin' to eat?"
"Sure." She said. "Let's go."
I listened to the man and the woman walk away and soon I drifted into unconsciousness again.
I figure it was about a week before they dragged me out of the fridge and put me into a huge gunny sack. They had bound my feet and hands again so I couldn't resist them. They dragged me down two flights of steps and into a large room where they proceeded to pound me with baseball bats and sticks. I didn't give them the satisfaction of crying out because I realized that they were the cats and I was the mouse and they would soon tire of me. I just laid there and took whatever they gave me. I laughed because I realized that I probably would not live and that only resulted in another barrage of beatings. I lost my hold on conscious world and slipped into the black state that was so nice.
I woke up to find I was still in the big sack, only I had been dragged over to a wall and leaned up so that my back was against it. The bag felt strangely wet and I could smell the acrid odor of my own blood. The next thing I heard was a hissing sound. It took me a minute to identify it as a spraycan. The smell of paint joined the smell of my blood and feces, and gagged. A few seconds later, a dart sunk into my skin just below the heart. I flinched and heard them start to laugh. A few seconds later, another thudded into the wall next to my head. The third landed in the fleshy muscle of my shoulder. it was a strange, pinching feeling as if a doctor was throwing needles at you, only in my case they were poisoned. But it really didn't hurt that much. I felt the darts being pulled free and soon one landed in my forehead and I once again went black.
I came to in the fridge and found that my hands and feet had been cut off and tourniquets had been applied. I didn't make much of it because I had given myself up for dead long ago. I checked my bones and discovered that both my legs had been broken and my left arm had no feeling. I managed to get air by pushing at the seal with the stump of my right hand. My head was a bloody mess and... what? What Bobby? You don't believe me? Well, now you just remember what I told you. When I was a kid, I had to walk ten miles to school every day, uphill, both ways.