Solid Walls
Matthias always said to carry several knives, at least one sword and preferably a crossbow with oneself at all times to ensure that one remained protected and equipped to escape any situation necessary.
Matthias also always said that the Earth was flat and aliens from Saturn had infiltrated the globe and were trying to change the colour of the sky from blue to magenta.
As a consequence, Matthias’ word was often taken with a grain of rice.
This time, Cecily thought as she groggily awoke on the floor, perhaps her brother had been right about the weapons.
It took her a moment to shake herself out of her bizarre dream of flying around downtown Melbourne with Pennywise the clown but when she did, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked around the room.
The room was illuminated by a single light set high into the ceiling and unhindered by any fancy coverings.
Displeasure crumpled her features as she realised that she was encased by four solid walls and a ceiling, without a door in sight.
She tried to move her right hand to reach the place where she knew her only weapon, a Swiss Army knife, lay nestled in her left pants pocket but her hand wouldn’t budge. Looking down Cecily noticed that her hands were tied together, forearm to forearm, with thick rope.
Her legs were unbound, however, so she stood unsteadily up. She looked around at the place in which she was confined and realised that there was no conceivable way out.
“There’s no escape,” she said out loud into the empty room, with only the specks of dust to hear her words.
“No, no, no, nO, NO, NO, NO!” Fury at the realisation of the loss of her freedom quickly turned into hysteria and Cecily, at loss for what else to do, ran and collided into the cement wall with all the force she could muster.
Maybe some part of her mind hoped that the wall would fall through upon her attack, but it stood as solid as walls ought to be. The texture was wrong though. Some deep rational part of Cecily’s brain expected to be met with a hard and unyielding surface. Strangely, the wall was soft, squishy, like a marshmallow or sponge cake. Cecily, numbed by rage and fear, didn’t notice. She rammed the wall again and again and again and again until she was so exhausted that she fell to her feet and couldn’t get up.
Little does Cecily know, her attempts at escaping are futile. They say that those who are admitted to a padded cell at “St Ambrose’s Asylum for the Mentally Ill” will never leave, not even if the sky turns from blue to magenta.
