break the weak in single file


11.01.45
It was a mistake to lapse a day in my writing.
Already my memory begins to fade; the details of my past-life have become haunting, tantalizing, utterly out of reach as the Virus consumes them. All I have left are the remnants of another's life, a name, and what trivial details I saw fit to record in this account. Shadows, fragments, and I dare not chase the fuller accounts for fear of linking them with this and risking a destruction of all of them.
Or it could be, perhaps, that I have already forgotten where I put them.

One by one by one are other unwilling Mavericks dragged by my cell. Brought by force or deception, these wretches, all are more worth your pity than I. Mauled about, mistreated worse than ever Sunstar dared, and still I maintain a coveted resistant flame, an inexorable will to live free that I daresay they will never expunge.
But these creatures who pass me in the halls, who scream in the throes of their nightmares and beg for release, who gibber and wail and at last fall silent under a final blow from the guards--and then the next day awaken smiling, perfect in the rest of Lord Sigma...What consolation like mine have they? That they should snap so quickly, should give like reeds under a gale wind--lack they only my practice with abuse, with the torturer's whims, or is it more deeply founded? Have they no assurance than life persists without them, that there is a hope of rejoining it?


Contents of this document are © 2002 Kim Kondratieff.