Page 67 of Mind Maze

My body feels unusually warm. There’s a tingle that starts from my head and dances its way through me to my extremities. I move my fingers and fist my hands, trying to shake the strange sensation out of me.

It’s a nice event.

Everyone’s so friendly.

If only we could pass this feeling to our friends, families, and even foes. This could be a new era. President Huxley truly is the best man in the position we’ve ever had.

Wait, what?

I realize all three men are watching me with interest now. My head feels fuzzy inside. Like I’ve been drugged.

The wine?

I watched the bartender open the bottle. It would have had to have been tainted before the cork popped. That’s not it.

I like this song.

Wait.

This song is the same song they were playing in the background when we arrived. In fact, I think it’s the only song, playing over and over on repeat.

The whistling is never ending. It makes me insane. Why must they play this part over and over and over again on repeat. To make me lose my mind?

Of course they are.

That’s what they do.

I yank at my restraints, to no avail. I’m desperate to beat my fists against my skull to get the music out of my head. At the very least, I’d like to cram my fingers into my ear canals to dull the sound.

I’m forced to listen, though.

There’s no escaping this.

How long have I been here? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? It’s long enough that they keep fluids in me intravenously. Someone comes in periodically to change the piss bag hanging off the side of my bed.

I’m held captive by faceless monsters and tortured by a stupid, annoying, unfinished song.

“Don’t Worry Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin.

One of the piss bag changers told me the name. They said I ruined the song for them. Me. The one trapped and held hostage by said song.

I can’t escape it.

It’s maddening.

Thoughts turn to mush inside my head. My brain tries to grasp on to memories or make sense of where I am, but I can’t think.

A hoarse moan rips from my throat. I hear the young man begging. The young man is me.

The pleading falls on deaf ears.

Sometimes, they turn the whistling part of the song up louder, drowning me out.

My eyes burn and I know it’s because I’ve been crying. I think it’s because my heart aches, but I can’t seem to remember why.

My family.

Think.

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