The Cage
Posted: Thursday, November 20, 2008
by Michael Ramzy
delusionthread.com
He looked around the cage, slowly moved his eyes around each bar of metal. He could not remember being anywhere other than where he was at this moment, this one particular moment the only time he knew. He had no past and knew of no future beyond the dull alloy of the cage which held him.
The cage sat on a raised plateau of sand in the middle of a desert, a nameless part of the planet he would never know. He could only see the endless planes of flat sand stretching in every direction to the limit of his vision. He felt there might be something else beyond, yet could not think of what. He only knew the sight around him and it offered him no hope, no vision of anything other than what he saw.
Every day, once in the morning and once at sunset, he had visitors. They were always different. Or perhaps they were the same only he had forgotten them by the time they returned, so it only seemed as though they were different. He did not know enough to think this, but it seemed as though if he were to think, this would be one of the things which would occupy his mind.
But of course, he could not think. Or would not.
Sometimes at night . . .
He felt that the person who came in the morning was a different personality than the one at night. It might still be the same person, yet he did not think of it enough to try to reason this. He only knew what he knew.
During the day the sun blistered the sand under his feet, and his eyes were blinded if he looked across the planes of sand in the distance. The sun blinded everything around him. The heat warmed him, and he knew he liked the warmth in the morning. By midday, however, the sun had become unbearable and left his seared skin wilted and tired.
He did not try to think of the nights.
Whenever he was approached by visitors, he heard them speak to him. He understood everything said to him. He knew the language they spoke and, more important, the meaning behind the words they used. He knew this without thinking and it was not important to him. It might have been once, but no longer.
He looked up into the sky and saw the sun bright and blinding overhead. He closed his eyes against the light but could still see it through his eyelids. He could feel the heat push against his face, push his head back. He put his head down and opened his eyes to look at the sand under his feet. The sun reflected off the sand and he was once again forced to close his eyes. Only the light was reflected, not the heat, so he was able to keep his head down in this manner without pain for some time.
Then, without warning, he would raise his head and look straight across the desert. He would not look up or down, but straight across the sand and try to focus on the horizon.
This happened many times every day. It was something he knew he did, yet as with many other things, not the reason. He only felt that every time he raised his head to look across the desert it was something not new to him. He did not know why, and if he tried to think about it decided he had never done it before. And yet, that feeling persisted that it was something he had done many, many times.
At night it was very cold. He could look up at the lights in the sky and not be blinded. There was also no heat which forced itself upon him, so he could look up for as long as he wished and feel no pain. He would always drop his eyes, though, to the sand underneath his feet to see if he could see the reflections of the stars overhead. He could not. He knew this, yet every night he would try anyway. He did not know he had done it many times before. It was unlike in the daytime, when he had a feeling he had done a certain routine many times. At night, every time was as if it was the first time. And every time he would achieve the same result.
Sometimes at night, there would be . . .
But he couldn't think of the nights.
He looked up at the sun again and was forced to close his eyes, the sun blinding in its intensity. He dropped his eyes, lowered his head, and still could see the blinding light of the sun reflected in the sand. It felt as if each grain held the power of the sun within, each particle on its own somehow blinding him in a different way.
Later, the sun set. It was still very hot. He looked off into the distance and saw movement, a figure walking toward him. It seemed to have appeared on the horizon, beyond his vision, and was slowly working its way forward to the cage.
The figure, which now he knew was a figure and not a trick of his vision, was almost upon him. It was covered in black, layers of dark fabric wound loosely around its body. There were no features he could see, nothing to distinguish this figure as anything other than an it The figure carried a small black box and soon stopped in front of the cage. It set the small box on the sand, then stood erect and removed the layers of fabric around its head.
It was a tall, gaunt man. He had dark eyes, but not as dark as either the fabrics wound around him or the box he had set in front of the cage. He looked into the cage and smiled, then spoke:
"Good evening."
There was no answer from within the cage, as the man knew there wouldn't be.
"I have a wondrous gift for you tonight," the man continued, watching the figure in the cage. "It has taken my life to bring it and offer it to you."
There was still no response through the bars of the cage.
"I offer it humbly, and give thanks."
The figure in black, still smiling, bowed in a long, deep gesture of what could have been respect, or admiration. He then turned and started off toward the horizon, back the way he came.
The man in the cage watched the figure walk away and kept him in sight until he could not be distinguished from the darkening horizon. The sand in the distance was now almost black with the coming of night.
He dropped his head and looked at the box in front of his cage. It was very small. He had never seen it before, he was certain. He waited, expecting the box to somehow do something, or perhaps even say something. He did not know what to expect, and yet after a moment he raised his eyes and returned to look off into the distance at the coming darkness.
Still, there was something about the box a small part of him felt he should know. But he was certain he had never seen it before.
Sometimes at night, there would be . . .
Later, the sun rose slowly, almost precariously over the horizon. The metal bars of the cage were a slight yellowish hue as they reflected the dim morning light. He raised his head and saw a figure walking toward the cage from the distance. He walked in the same manner as the figure of the night before.
The figure approached slowly and stopped in front of the cage, next to the black box. It removed the fabric from around its head and it was a man with dark eyes, almost as dark as the box on the sand. He was not the same man as the evening before.
"Good morning," the man said.
There was no answer from within the cage.
"I have a wondrous gift for you this morning. It has taken my life to offer it to you."
He waited, yet there was no answer. As he knew there wouldn't be.
"I offer it humbly, and give thanks."
The man bowed, rewrapped the fabric around his head, then stooped and lifted the small box from where it sat on the sand in front of the cage. He used both hands and seemed to hold it away from his body. He bowed again, then turned and walked off into the distance.
The man in the cage looked at the sand where the box had been, but only smooth sand showed in his eyes. There was no mark in the sand to identify that there had, moments ago, been a small box outside his cage.
He looked up into the sky, the sun now well above the thin horizon. He closed his eyes to the brightness, but it still blinded him. He dropped his eyes and looked at the sand beneath him. The reflected light, though not at full intensity, was almost as blinding. He then raised his head and looked at the horizon.
Later, he watched as a figure wrapped in dark fabrics approached from the distance.
Sometimes at night there would be creatures that entered the cage. Venomous and evil, they would enter either through the gaps between the metal bars or ooze from the alloy of the cage itself. They had no form, no concrete shape, but they were beings which carried a certain hatred, a specific wickedness that even Death would not be an answer to. In the cage, he would not be able to fight them since these creatures did not touch him. They approached him, taunted him with the unbearable, seething horror of an entire world's nightmares . . . and yet, he could not remember his response or his answer to this hideous vision, only that the real evil in his cage would cease when
He saw the figure in dark fabrics stop in front of the cage. This figure carried a small black box and set in on the sand. It removed the fabric from around its head. The eyes were dark, yet the figure smiled.
"I have a wondrous gift for you."
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