Trapped

An Iron Age Media Prompt - “The Strain”

She wishes she could take the headphones off.

She also wishes she could remember what crime she committed that would warrant such a cruel and endless torture. Murder?

The slot at the bottom of her cell doors slides open and the tray unceremoniously plops onto the floor.

Tonight’s culinary masterpiece appears to be a slab of meat grilled like a Salisbury steak, something with the consistency, but not the taste of, mashed potatoes, and an overripe apple. This Red Delicious was anything but.

What should I do next?

She was so engrossed in the evening’s meal that she almost forgot about the endless stream of consciousness spewing from the headphones into her very tired and irritated ears. “This guy is the worst” she grumbles to herself for the umpteenth time.

How can I spend a whole day running errands and still have so much left to do?

“How about you actually make an accurately timed and reasonable to-do list for once in your life?!” she screams to no one. He can’t hear and, based on years of listening to his rambling thoughts, even if he could the advice would get lost in an endless torrent of thoughts, fears, questions, and doubts. This guy’s got issues. Most people have baggage and this man has an airport luggage claim rattling around in his skull. What she wouldn’t give to be able to talk to him. Ten minutes with me and I could make both our lives so much easier. She’s not entirely sure how she is confident regardless. Sure, I’ve taken risks in my life that didn’t pan out like whatever misfortune landed me in this infernal cell, but at least I actually lived my life. Endlessly circling the “what-if” drain gets you nowhere fast.

She wonders if his perfect mental cocktail stifling progress, improvement, or meaningful change was part of what qualified him to be an unwitting instrument of her torture. As paranoid as he was, his inner thoughts being broadcast 24/7 into her skull was not a worry he had, and why would it be?

Grocery, load of dishes, workout, making a meal, checking mail, load of laundry, checking up on emails, replying to texts, workout again, and I’m still nowhere close to done.

Quite surprising, she thinks, he can’t manage to clear his to-do list of the 187 items that currently occupy it. Not to mention the sticky notes scattered with tasks scattered everywhere. Then there are the daily lists, in addition, none of which ever get fully cleared. Did I use to-do lists? I think so. Perhaps she just her ambitions in life were just more realistic. Something with beans? Coffee shop! That was it! Sure, opening a small coffee shop is not exactly a Nobel Prize or world record but it was going to be wholly beautiful and, more importantly, wholly hers. No micromanaging bosses, nosy or worthless co-workers, or endlessly watching a black and white analog clock while her life wastes away. Just behind the counter making drinks while the underlings deal with the customers. Drinks can be made, some people seemingly can not be pleased with any outcome or in any situation. Maybe the coffee was just a needlessly obtuse excuse to make a bunch of coffee foam art but I don’t really care to be honest. It’s my money. Maybe it was someone else’s money and that’s why I’m here. Perhaps I am suppressing what actually happened, anything that would land me here would likely be quite traumatic.

The nights are one of the few quiet times. She sleeps when he does, there would be no way to sleep otherwise. Another on her relatively short list of interesting observations about him was that when he is very tired it is one few times when his mind and, by extension, thoughts slow down to what is closer to a normal pace for an average human. She thinks it is about the speed, maybe even a bit slower, than her thoughts before this, although at this point, she has a hard time remembering what her thoughts were like before. She does not have a life anymore, she only has his life. Although he does not seem to have much of a life either.

She wonders what he looks like.

What would be the best use of my time now?

A laugh escapes her before she can even realize it. Instinctively, it must have been. Maybe she is starting to lose her mind. Maybe she already lost her mind. If she had a bingo card for this guy's paralysis analysis, that is being stuck trying to decide what the best option in a given situation is, would take up multiple squares.

Shut up!

This outburst shakes her mental introspection fog slightly. Shut up? He’s not talking to someone, he wouldn’t say that to someone. She sighs as the realization dawns on her. Too many texts. He tends to shut down if he either gets too many texts in one group chat in rapid succession or has too many text conversations simultaneously. I thought texting friends and family was a good thing and a low-stakes scenario. He has a tendency to make everything difficult. I guess when you are as tense as a piece of glass in a vice grip, everything is stressful and you could break at any moment.

She wonders if this is an intentional part of the torture as well. She desperately wants to help him, mostly for her own sake, but in a small way, she supposes she cares about him in some bizarre way. She wants to help him and he wants help but keeps going in circles. Both are doomed on a path of seemingly infinite misery. Taken a step further they both want him to have quieter and fewer thoughts. Maybe if she gets released early for good behavior, she could meet him.

Actually, I wonder if that exercise would produce better results.

Are gym rats normally this insecure? she wonders. I used to workout fairly regularly. Daily walks, the occasional run, and the work softball team which was actually surprisingly enjoyable. Probably just the human condition being drawn towards a common goal and actually seeing people set aside their differences for once.

Hmm, I think I chose the wrong answer on the previous question.

The small part of her that cares would probably be more concerned by this thought were it for something important like a college test or a certification exam. Since this was the job hunter’s equivalent of a personality quiz, these thoughts serve only to exhaust and irritate her further.

These results do not seem right.

It is almost impressive that he can be so insecure and indecisive that he will look to anything or anyone else for guidance and direction and then he gets stunned when the information they provide does not line up with his thoughts and understanding. Then he gets irritated because he ends up with more questions than he had before asking and still lacks the answers he is desperately looking for.

I wonder what is next for me.

I wonder that too. Hopefully, things will improve for both of us soon…