Raven
I've counted to sixty over two hundred times. There are no clocks or windows, but at least they can't steal this one last way to tell how much time has passed. It's not accurate, but it's better than nothing. Even after that many minutes, the projector is still running.
This is the fifth time they've taken me to the small classroom in seven "days" or what seem like days here. Films play one after the other with no interruption on a bit white sheet stapled to the wall. They show me the darkest moments of this world's history. The footage is always people doing terrible things to each other, usually with no context. It's accompanied by cheerful classical music. This goes on for hours and hours. If I close my eyes, a cuff around my ankles will give me a painful shock until I open them. I can withstand the shock for up to thirty counts now. If I keep practicing, maybe I'll be able to just keep my eyes closed. Sometimes that's not much better than watching the screen. Sometimes when I close my eyes I just see all the people who are gone. Under the music, I can still hear their screams. As horrible as the films are, they're still better than what happens after the projector stops...
After I count to sixty, forty more times, finally the projector stops. I take a slow inhale through my nose, despite the panic rising in my chest. These are the only seconds that they might not be watching me. They have to get from wherever they're watching me from to this room. So, there's a small chance that in these precious few seconds, usually thirty counts, they can't see me.
I rip the shock device off my ankle. Getting out of the chair will be trickier. My ankles are ziptied to the legs of the chair and my wrists are ziptied behind me. I can get out of this after I get somewhere safe... The next part will be hard. I've only done this a few times in my entire life and never since coming to earth... I take a slow deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow for just a second while my soul self swallows me whole. When I'm released, I'm outside. It's dark out and the stars are blocked by neon and street lights. The sidewalk empty. I take one last slow breath and break the zip ties before standing up.
My legs turn to jello beneath me, but I have to run. I can feel them getting closer, his influence, anger and hate. Even if I have to crawl, I drag myself forward. My knees scrape against the cement, but I manage to pull myself forward on the sidewalk. Each crossed line in the cement is a small victory. If I can get somewhere else, if I can get away, maybe I can teleport again, but where? Where would be safe? They're everywhere. That much I've learned. They are police officers, teachers, business men, they could be anyone, anywhere. Hate is everywhere. Violence is everywhere. There is nowhere in this world that his influence cannot reach. It's not like Azerath. No one in this world can escape suffering.
There's a man up ahead and a woman. She's wearing a gold bathing suit top with a black skirt and her gold hair is up in a ponytail. The man is wearing a pair of jeans and a dark colored poloshirt. She's got her arm wrapped around his. They're talking, but they stop when they spot me. The woman lets go of his arm and approaches me. She bends down.
"Hey, what's a kid doing out here so late?" she asks. "Where are your parents?"
"Be careful, that looks like one of those metas," The man says, but he bends down in front of me too. I want to ask for help, but I can't. They're so close now, my body is shaking. I have to get away... It's dangerous, but I'll try it again... Somewhere safe... somewhere safe...
Just as my soul self begins to swallow me something smacks me in the head. It's such a surprise that it doesn't even hurt for a moment. The black aura of my soul disappears just as quickly as it came. My vision goes dark, but I hear screams.
When I come to, I'm in the chair again. We're back in the room they keep me in to sleep. The man and the woman who stopped for me are tied up and gagged. They're sitting against the wall, struggling in the duct tape and zip ties that bind them. They stare at me, eyes filled with fear. After counting to sixty, thirty-two times the door opens. Four of the blood members take the man and woman out by their legs, letting their upper bodies be dragged across the floor. Their screams are muffled by the duct tape, but I still hear them. They take me next, carrying the chair behind. We go to the same room they murdered those first one hundred and one people in. The room they like to use for their ceremonies.
This is my fault... I'm so sorry. If I hadn't tried to escape this wouldn't be happening. Or if I had tried harder to stop them. That truck should have been enough. They shouldn't have been able to bring me back. Now these people are going to suffer and it's my fault...