30x300 by -yannik-
DAY TWENTY ONE
>>
"Help me" he cried into the pillow to stifle the sound. Oh, he cried out loud last night, but now he didn't want to. He didn't want Chomsky, or Ivan, or whoever else was there to come in and yell at him. He could control it. He could control it now. At night he was sleeping, he was dreaming, so he had no control. He only managed to realize it was a dream, a nightmare, so he escaped. But reality was no better. Walls, loneliness, lack of air. All the same. So he cried for help, but since no one would answer, he didn't want them to hear. He pressed the harsh material into his mouth, almost choking himself, and cried.
"Ensign Paris" he heard a voice, felt a hand touching his shoulder, and bolted upright.
Pierce was staring on his tear-stained face, her mouth gaping open. Was she surprised? Did she think he was sleeping? An idiot!
"Your meal."
"Meal?" he mocked. "Meal? I'm not going to eat that meal!" he yelled. "Take it away! I don't want it! Eat it yourself!"
He rose. But he watched himself from the outside. Weird. In slow motion.
She was standing there with that tray in her hands. And he stood before her. It seemed as if he wanted to just take the tray from her, but instead his hands pushed up. And up. And the tray, the food, flew towards her face, her uniform. He pushed further. Pushed her, and she fell backwards on the floor. He sat on top of her, and started hitting.
The voice screamed "Let go of her!" And then everything went blank.
A phaser, he smiled slipping into unconsciousness. A phaser set to stunt.
>>
t.b.c.