Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

The cold air runs briskly over my skin. The wires are everywhere, and the sounds of electricity echos in my ears. I can't see anything but the stony ground beneath my body. Thoughts of mama coming to rescue me plays over and over in my mind. She will come, she will come. My back is exposed and stings in different spots. I can feel the openings of my skin being held by metal objects in a pinch. They've left me here like this. Unfinished like a toy in the process of being built. Or better yet, a weapon. Their laughs still fresh in my mind as they walked merrily off to lunch. Probably something far better then the gruel they've been feeding the other children and myself. A slight shift of my fingers sends a dull throb up my hand to the elbow. They have tubes connected to needles digging into the flesh near the knuckles. Another tube for my nose to help me breath, and another that injects this yucky fluid into my mouth. I can't move my head. They have it strapped down with my face sticking out of a hole. But I can see glimpses of things from the movement of my eyes. There's someone else on the bed next to mine. But they aren't moving. They hadn't been moving since they've been brought in here. I could tell it was another child from the arm that fell off the edge of it's table. Hanging there all these hours without a sign of movement.

I'm scared, I want my mama. But mama hasn't come for me. Every night while I lay in my cell I listen to the cries of the other children. Some of them crying for their mommies and daddies. Some crying to be let free. A man in a lab coat who calls himself, "the good doctor" always makes his rounds to peer into our cells. Someone once asked why they were here. He said that this is the place were bad little boys and girls come to be punished and, "disciplined" to be good. Sometimes he'll say it's because our mothers and father's done love us anymore and let them take us away. I know that can't be true in my case. Mama loves me very much, and I've always been a good boy. Even at my age, I know that this place isn't for punishment. They're experimenting on us. That's what I heard one of the guards say when they were making their rounds to make sure we were in our cells. Something about being sold off to buyers after we've been "perfected". The only children I've seen here are all half breeds like me. Everyone's will is slowly breaking, if not has already been broken. A lot of their eyes have gone dull and lifeless. We are still kept in fairly good shape though. They want us to be in good shape if we're to survive the experiments. At the same time though, they want us weak and willing to listen to them.

Sometimes we will be placed in a room with steel chairs. They feel cold every time I sit down, and never seem to warm up. In front of us a screen will lower down, and the good doctor will appear on it. He says these words over and over again for who knows how long. I've decided to not keep track of time anymore. "If your good, you will be rewarded. If your bad, you'll be punished." That's what he keeps saying. Every time he says that pictures show. If we are good, we will be showered with treats and toys and "love". I envoy those kids on the screen. But when we're bad, we will continue to live in our cells without any of the "love" we could receive. No candies, no toys. No nothing. This isn't my first time in this room. The first time they drew blood and collected it in a vile with my number labeled on it. We can't have our names back until we're good like the good children on the screen. So we get numbers. My back is starting to hurt again. I wish I could see what's making it hurt. I can see on a table on the other side of me something hanging off of there. It's not another child's arm. This looks body and bloodied as if cut from something recently. I see some feathers on there, and nothing more. I want to puke whenever that stuff is sprayed into my mouth. But I can't. Only dry wheezing comes up. I want to cry but the tears are already dried out. I can hear them coming back now...I wish mama was here to take me away.