Frozen Solid

We move along. No thought. No blinking. No moving our heads. We just stare forward, individually thinking of the horrors we will be forced to face.

The saddest part, is that we don't fear the horrors.

We fear what we will be turned into after we are through with this.

The crunch of fresh snow marks our every step, as the bitter wind lashes out at our faces. As if it is angry at us for putting ourselves in this position. If we just died, it would be easier. We wouldn't be lonely, without family or a home. We would be pure and warm.

But the mere thought that usually grants us comfort is forced from our minds as each gust of wind freezes our already frozen core.

If we are frozen, would we be warriors, cased in armor of numbness? My only hope is that I won't feel the degrading of myself. The dignity that will be ripped away.

My hopes are everyone's hopes. We might be considered individuals, but we learned to think as a collective. To the point we could feel the thoughts of others as we walked on. But there was no point of privacy. We were all the same.

Dressed the same.

Walking the same.

Talking the same.

Going to the same place.

Forsaken as the others.

We had nothing to hide. So we all hoped for nothing.

What's funny is that we were voluntarily heading towards our demise. Nobody forcing us from behind. No one dragging from the front. No one pushing and shoving at our sides. We went because we had nowhere else to go. Like I said before, we should have and would have died.

We see a solitary building. It looks menacing and stern.

As we shuffle inside, our outsides warm up, but the hearts we encase with our bodies are frozen solid. They can't be slowly cut. But they can be quickly shattered. But shattering is better. We have a better chance of lashing out and hurting the ones who will do this to us.

We are given clothing. We are given food. We can not stand to eat. To actually grant our bodies something of nourishment. It's disgusting to us, like giving the devil something to make him stronger. We are the devil now. We must not help ourselves, because it will enable to make us do more wrong.

We all see the fact that they gave us normal food. To be cut up with normal utensils. Spoon, fork, and knife. Knife.... we all look into each others eyes and realize this is our last chance to stop ourselves from becoming what we fear.

We take the chance. We use the chance.

All of us died. Except for me. I aimed wrong. I was too afraid. How shallow could you get. How scared.

Did I want to die?

And suddenly it dawned on me. I did. I wanted to die so bad that I thought a knife to the neck wouldn't be enough torture for me. Torturing myself for what is yet to come.

I saw the I.V.

Take that out and you will die an agonizing death knowing that your cells fail little by little.

I take this chance by the neck and wring it out.

I BURN.

"No one won this..."