Hell

I'm chained in the far end of an old, dirty, dimly lit Asian bathroom with rivers of piss on the floor. Rows of stinky toilets and never wiped urinals on the wall. The men are angry when they use them, speaking a language I can't understand. If I speak they immediately lose control and savagely beat my face as if I'm the source of all their problems and woes with my round eyes and white skin. So I do not speak.

It never ends. I do not even know what's on the outside. I just know the smells and sounds, day after day, draining me into insanity. I must pretend, always pretend, like at a home. Making me pretend is success for them. I cannot cry out. There's no one to hear if I did. What is said on the outside? What do they think of this place? I have no say in it. No say at all. No hope of saying.

I pray for death every day, every hour, every minute. Me or they must die. They refuse to see that. Always pushing, taking, shoving. In their minds madmen have won and life goes on, civilization an illusion to bear. They know what that means but cannot say. If they do, they get savagely beaten in the face. In anger they see profit.

I can't sleep. Breathe too deep the smell and filth invade you inside. Must stay awake, keep short breaths. So tired. More tired than any man alive. I say this can't be my life but it is. Somehow they've agreed I should be in these chains. Futile to argue against them even if I knew the language. Night and day are the same, always the terror blackness. Just on and on. On and on. My mind is gone.