An: my bad. school is crazy. hope you like it though! :)
10: Starvation in Solitary
So hey hey, this song is for us
So put your hands in the air
if you're crazy like us
"Hey hey" ~Superchic[k]
I made my first mistake right off the bat. I decided to sleep. When I woke up, I fell asleep again. But finally, I reached a point where my body said, 'I'm full up on sleep! I don't want any more!' and I was stuck wide-awake. That was part one of the mistake. The second part was that I hadn't kept track of how long I had been in that little room. It could have been a day, or it could have been four. I had no way of knowing.
For the first little bit, I stared at the wall and thought about the predicament I was in, if there was any way to escape, things I'd like to do to Stryker, stuff like that. But I quickly realized that those thoughts only lead me in circles and I was going to go crazy very quickly if I kept up with that. I tried to think of nothing after that.
Have you ever tried to think of nothing? Let me tell you, it doesn't work. Even if you're thinking of a blank piece of paper, it's still something. You eventually start thinking about how big the paper is and whether or not you can get a paper cut on its edges even if it's only imaginary, and whether it's on something or just floating in space inside your mind. You begin to think about what could go on that piece of paper, and eventually your brain is full of thoughts.
After staring at the wall and letting my brain go crazy, I needed to do something. Anything. So I began to recite my timetables. I got all the way up to sixteen before I got stuck. Then I tried to do some mental math to figure the rest out. I did them through twenty-two that way before my math skills failed me. There are only so many times you can carry in your head before you get mixed up and forget all the numbers. I tried to recall all the presidents in the correct order. That was an epic fail. I got to number seven before I forgot the order. So I just named all the presidents I knew. I named 30 out of thirty-something, and felt pretty proud for remembering James Garfield and Calvin Coolidge. I thought about trying to remember Newton's laws, but I decided not to, since I had usually slept in science class.
Somewhere along those lines, my brain fizzled. I needed to do something, not just think! I considered physical things such as push-ups and jumping jacks, and then told myself, "Val! You need to save your strength!" Rolling over, I started to pick at my too-large shoes. The laces were maroon too. Did they dump all the clothes in some huge vat of dye and then –
Shoelaces.
My eyebrows about shot off my face at this epiphany. Hurriedly, I unlaced one of my sneakers, pulling them through the eyelets. Taking the two ends, I tied them together and smiled. Have you ever played those string games? You can make all manner of things, like cup and saucer, Eiffel tower, and Jacob's ladder. You can also make a sizable knot, as I found out when I forgot what I was doing and messed up.
That kept me occupied for a long time. As I played the string games, a thought occurred to me: were they going to let me out to go to the bathroom?
But, as I discovered, if you do not eat, there is nothing to go to the bathroom for.
In the next several days I invented new shadow puppets, played an imaginary piano, sang all the songs I could remember, tapped out endless rhythms, and cat-napped. I enjoyed periods of numbness from my stomach, but they came with less and less frequency, overpowered by growing, ravenous pain in my abdomen. During those periods, I curled up in a ball and thought about a report I had done on pirates.
It seemed that they had gotten either marooned or stranded, they were out of shot and they couldn't catch anything. I didn't know if I was remembering right; my thoughts were pretty hazy on the details. Apparently, they had cut up strips of leather, boiled them, and eaten them, being just as hungry as I was. At times like these, I stared at my shoelaces and wondered how they would taste. But reason would always take over, telling me that while they would fill my stomach, they provided no nourishment. How would I cut them? I couldn't boil them. So I would wait for the hunger to pass, angry at the world, and especially my captors.
I started keeping track of the times I fell asleep, assuming that if I slept deeply it had probably been a full night's sleep. After keeping track like that, I estimated I had been in that room five days, not counting the long periods of sleep at the beginning.
Victor tucked the vial inside his coat and motioned toward the soldiers some distance off. They'd ship the mutant back to Three Mile Island. That was the last of the three mutants he had been sent for. Now, getting into his car, Victor drove north, going to look for something that had been bothering him for some time. After many hours, he spotted the small weathered sign that read, "Welcome to Blue Mountain, Montana." He smiled and turned in. Dusk was falling quickly, a premonition of the coming winter. He parked on a side street of the small town and got out of his car, his black coat blowing in the wind. Walking slowly, guided by a fifteen year old memory, he finally arrived at a small house with a for-sale sign in the yard. Going around the back, he peered in a window. The rooms were bare, no furniture or belongings defined them. Creed frowned, thinking, making plans. He jotted down the realtor's number from the for-sale sign.
Abruptly, he turned and walked two blocks to a small roadside motel and rented a room. The clerk was bored and didn't pay him much attention, which was how he liked it. Using the key to open the door, he tossed his bags that he had collected from his car onto the bed and shucked off his coat.
Victor caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. He had looked exactly the same for at least a hundred years. He growled, angry with himself for following this trail of memories. Surely there wasn't any reason to come back here.
But his instincts told him something was up, and Victor always trusted his instincts. He picked up the phone and dialed a number of an old contact that worked in with FBI.
The phone clicked. "Hello?"
"Roy, it's Victor Creed."
"Victor." There was silence at the other end of the line.
"I'm calling in that favor you owe me, Roy," Creed said in a low voice.
"…All right. What do you need?"
"Get me all the information you can find in every channel about Rue Saffron Drake and Valiant Fortitude Drake, package it all up, and mail it express to my post office box in Seattle."
"Sure thing. What are you looking for?"
"I don't know yet," Victor said, a slight snarl hidden in his voice. "That's why I want everything you can get your hands on."
"You got it. We're square after this …right?"
Victor frowned and stared out his motel window. "Sure, Roy. We're square."
During the fifth day, I was playing with my shoes, pretending they were ships being attacked by pirates. The imaginary pirates were just boarding my left shoe when keys rang in the lock.
"Val."
I rolled my eyes and said, "Do you want my pirates to attack you, too?"
"Your antics have been amusing the past seven days, but we've got more tests to run."
So that's how long I've been here. "Do I get food?"
"No."
"Then no dice," I said, facing the wall.
"I'm afraid you don't get a say in the matter," Stryker said, and before I knew it, muscled hands grabbed me by my arms and lifted me up and out of the room, leaving my shoes behind. I struggled, but I had been weakened by my imposed fast. I was in no condition to out muscle these soldiers. Looking up into their faces, I recognized Skippy and the soldier whose ear I bit –Olsen. News flash: her two favorite people in the world have taken the operative captive. NOT! Being subjected to unknown tests. Situation: not good. I was led back to the lab and strapped to the same hard metal table.
"Val." Would he ever stop saying my name? "We'd like to run some tests. We know about your wings. How do you grow them?"
I seemed to remember a similar scenario involving questions and a scalpel.
"Val." Stryker leaned over me with a faux compassionate look. "We would like you to grow your wings for us. But meanwhile, we will be testing your healing factor." Ominous silence. I stared into his eyes, trying to figure out if there was anything remotely human in his gaze.
Conclusion: none at all. "However, if you decide to grow your wings for us, we will stop the tests immediately."
There was no way in h$% that they were getting their hands on the wings my mother gave me. "I do not respond to threats," I said coldly, my hair spilling over the edge of the table.
He pursed his lips. "Fine. Doctor, you may begin."
The blond woman, whose name I had forgotten, picked up a syringe. Needles, ugh. I turned my head away and waited for the burn. It came –in my neck. A firm hand was placed on my head to prevent me from moving. Ow ow ow get it out! It hurts! I could feel the needle come out of my skin and my empty stomach lurched. Oh, dear. An older male doctor picked up a scalpel and I clenched my fists, anticipating; Wade and Olsen were setting up a video camera.
The doctors began mumbling their doctor jargon to each other, and when the scalpel made an incision on my leg I gasped and began mumbling incoherently. I didn't start to scream until they made to other slits and pulled my skin back, exposing muscle. Then my lungs forced the air out of me. Even thought I was screaming bloody murder, it was like no one could hear me. The doctors went on mumbling, Stryker, Skippy, and Olsen kept watching, and no one paid the least bit of attention to me. These kinds of tests have been done before, I thought weakly. On other people, at other times. But I will not give in! I will not!
They stood over me, watching my muscles reattach themselves to my skin and mend the tears. That was one of the few reliefs I had.
Cut.
Mama, do you remember what you said to me? I wondered silently around my screams.
Snip.
Slice. More howls from me.
You always said I was the strong one, Mama, but I think it was really you. I don't feel so strong right now. Worst. Understatement. Of. All. Time. I roared in cat.
A buzz began, and I turned to see the older male doctor holding a drill. OH NONONO Ahhh no no no nononono….
I was so scared I forgot to breathe, and so… I fainted.
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