They are lies that I tell myself when I am asleep to get me through the nightmarish truth that faces me when I am awake. Sometimes, when I wake up, I make a conscious choice to keep my eyes closed, to pretend that I’m still sleeping, so that I won’t have to face what awaits me in the day. Or the night. To be honest, I can’t be certain which is which anymore. The room that I’m kept in has no windows, and I don’t know what lies beyond the door that never opens. Maybe only darkness. At first, when I wake up, I don’t recall my name, but then it comes to me in whispers, floating over me until it lands like cobwebs in my mind. Ben. My name is Ben. My age soon follows—seventeen—and then come the scattershot memories of my life before this cell. Mostly, my mind is a blank. A gray, horrible, empty cube—much like the cell that I always wake up in. I’m never awake for long before I hear them moving down the hall. Whoever is keeping me here must have cameras hooked up in my room, as they seem to know precisely when I wake, move, blink.
What do You think about The Ghost Of Ben Hargrove?
