Yesterday I may have achieved a small victory over my jailors. They think me so far subdued that they took me out into the world – a tour to display my submissiveness and their successes. They pranced around and showed me off like a prize dog, or flower.
This indignity began when they strapped me into the torture seat, which heretofore has served to transport me to evil appointments where I am stripped naked (in front of strangers!) and thrust, shivering, onto freezing metal plates. So I dread the torture chair, even as I try to preserve what little personal honor I have left and never show my captors the extent of my distress. This time, we spent much longer in transit than usual; I suspect they were playing with my mind, giving me time to imagine the worst. I foiled that plan, though. I fell asleep. It’s the only sure escape I know, my haven and retreat when the situation begins to overwhelm me.
I awoke at the home if some of “Daddy”‘s relatives. They cooed and petted me, but mercifully mostly ignored me. Why did my captors bring me? I couldn’t begin to speculate, as no additional torture was forthcoming (although the appearance of specialist “Grammy” momentarily gave me pause), but the strain of not knowing finally overwhelmed me and I began quietly weeping, the dignified tears of one who has known difficulties and overcome them.
Mommy and Daddy noticed, despite my concealment efforts, and took turns carrying me around, pretending to comfort me. Oh, they keep up a good facade in public, I’ll give them that, but I know their darker side, the one that only comes out in the middle of the night. Even after I felt better – note to self: research Stockholm syndrome – I kept up the fussing just to make their lives harder, as is my obligation as a prisoner.
I thought I’d won when they bundled us back into the vehicle. In fact, we debarked among more strangers. I quickly sized up the situation and realized that many of these groups were captors and their prisoners, just like me! Only, to my great dismay, I saw that all of the prisoners had clearly capitulated. Even the ones I glimpsed who looked to have been captured not long before me looked positively happy in the crowd. No help from that quarter, then.
I fear my jailors may have been attending some sort of gathering of their profession and may have come away with additional techniques for breaking me. I am resolute, though: I will remain strong, resisting to my last breath. The sight if all those cowed, broken (admittedly happy-looking, though looks deceive) prisoners has strengthened my resolve. Never give up! Never surrender!