I bucked against the restraints. For a moment, I felt my body go limp, exhausted from another failed attempt. Not the last, though, of hundreds of spasms. Eyelids blinked profusely, trying to rid my senses of the ocean of tears suddenly leaking out of my tearducts. I remembered everything yet simultaneously nothing at all. Flashes of what I could only assume to be my past, present and future flashed across the silver lining of what I referred to as my coffin.

A Sleek, metal box that enveloped a mummy. I'm never too sure if I'm alive or dead. My senses were dull and my lungs never too full of recycled oxygen. Bound to insanity-- or maybe sanity in my case. Would I lie here forever, screaming my throat hoarse in unconditioned fear of the light? Oh yes, the light. Everytime they came to 'check on me' I was blinded by the whitewash walls and bright flourescent lights of the hospital, or hell disguised as a gleaming heaven if one were to ask me. One reason why I wasn't sure if I were dead or alive was the way the way they injected me with foul substances, cut at my skin as though I couldn't feel it-- which I couldn't, yet I was aware of their task anyways.

A gutteral growl was emitted as i tried to throw my head back, sending myself into another convulsion. At the same time I became victim to a violent flashback. I couldn't see anything specific, aside from gore and blood. Especially blood. The most vivid aspect of my flashbacks. Worst case scenario? Reliving the procedures. Sometimes it was just visuals, sometimes it was only red and pain. Often times, it was both. I was a slave to my own failures, my past and present. My horror was my future. There was no way I could let go, I could only lay back and continue the nightmare.

Click. Tap. Screech. Oh no, I groaned, my screams and movie reel ceasing. It was time. In a matter of minutes they'd slide me out, check my pulse, and pretend that I wasn't conscious. For some reason, I could never catch what they were discussing. The doctors, terminators, hellions-- whatever they were. Everything was foreign, static and uncomprehendible. The only think that made sense was the prick, then the numbness. I was always numb, mentally and physically when outside of my tomb. I scarcely remember them rolling me over so that I lied on my belly. I remember needing to piss, but I don't know if I ever went. Hell, I don't know if I ever had a bowel movement or urined. They never removed the jacket. I was an experiment based soley on reactions. Responses that never came. My punishment for nonconscious refusal? To resume my prior statement. Like always, a neverending cycle of the transition of darkness to light. Back into the depths of hell I slide. The inky environment was almost a relief to my working eyes, my mind embracing the dark as though it were its savior. At least here I knew the only thing to fear was my own mind. The only thing that would ever probe my senses was my own fear.

Their infection, my disease. I never even uttered a please. Manifested with gore, my fingernails scratched against the metal, shredding my nails into pieces. shrieking with sheer macabre and horror, I shook. Would this be the last time I'd ever witness my own death? I could only hope the angels prayers were with me. The scariest moment of my existence and I was foaming at the mouth, still caught in a frightful seizure. In my dying wake I swore allegiance to a higher being, the God that finally allowed my suffering to end. After 10 minutes, the doctors were stirred, perturbed by the screaming issuing forth from the mortuary. By the time they reached to pull me out, I had gone into a coma. Hanging onto a thread of what was. This was the last time I'd ever be their lab rat. With a smile etched into a horror-struck face with painstaking precision, I was gone. Mentally and physically I had reached my peace. My haven. Whitewashed walls faded into nothingness, and all that I could see in the stretch of the canvas unveiled before me was white light. And I walked straight into it.