I don’t want to turn around. I expect to see or hear something but I don’t. Anxiety mounts and causes one side of the internal argument to win. I turn my head but it’s not far enough to see the door so I twist in my chair to the left. The door is closed but no one is there. I look to the corners of the room which are well lit but they are empty. Turning back to the table I’m surprised to find a photo of a man in a uniform now laying on the table. Was that there before? Could I have missed it? Turned facing the opposing chair, I assume it had always been there and convince myself that I missed it.
There’s a digital clock on the wall and it reads, “23:59.” I watch the clock waiting for it to change but it doesn’t. I keep staring, slowly counting to sixty but it remains the same.
I turn the picture to face me and slide it to my edge of the table. The man appears to be mid-twenties but it’s difficult to tell with the full beard and hair. Dressed in a camouflage uniform, body armor, helmet, and holding a rifle in one hand. The other grasps a rail welded to the side of a vehicle and he’s standing on the running boards. The photo appears to have been taken in the mountains on a rough road.
My focus is instantly drawn away from the photo as I hear someone yelling in the hall. Again, I can’t understand but I hear a sense of urgency in their voice. The second spot light turns on and my vision whites out. I clinch my eyes tightly shut but still, the light is more than I’ve ever experienced. It seems to be warming my entire body. Then without warning, every muscle fiber contracts as I’m electrified. Short in duration but supreme intensity. The lights flicker but come back strong then fade slightly as I hear a slight crackle. Shocked again, I’m off the chair, partially on the floor, and hanging by my right wrist; I just catch my breath when the third shock comes.
The lights are out and I’m on my left side still on the floor. The searing pain in my right wrist is a combination of burning and the pressure of being my point of attachment to the table. I’m still trying to understand why this is happening when I hear the door open again. The dim light from the hall only affords me silhouettes who approach, uncuff my hand, and begin to drag me from the room. With my head still up, I see the red glow of the clock which now reads “23:58.”
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