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The Deep End

Trickle

By Véronique Racine Published 2 years ago 6 min read
1

It is said the greatest torture invented was the Chinese waterdrop torture. What it does to the brain is not exactly understood, but it alters the perception of reality, of time, the ability to understand what is happening around oneself.

Scott would have probably laughed outright at the mere thought of it.

Pain tortured, not water dropping from the heavens, nothing would have made him change his mind.

Was he a bully? He had all the attributes, he took some pride in thinking he was stronger than anyone that came in his way, he spent countless hours in the gym to cultivate his own myth.

He wasn't overly aggressive, he didn't think so anyway; some people just needed to be put back in their place, they had an overinflated ego of self-importance.

He would have claimed most people liked him, and those who didn't could go to hell. He didn't like sycophants but he had his 'gang', and together they meant business. He was well-loved at parties, girls gravitated around him, loving his looks or the 'candies' he distributed with great generosity... who cared, right?

As long as it got him what he wanted.

Scott thought himself a 'good guy'.

So when he woke up in the strange glass container, barely having enough space to turn around, water drops constantly dripping on his head, he thought it was some kind of nightmare.

Blink and everything would return to normal.

The water kept on. Drop by drop. He couldn't even really shake his head without hitting the side of the ' aquarium' for lack of a better word.

Glass jail seemed more appropriate...

Already his feet were covered with water, up to mid-shins, his skin was starting to crinkle and he felt a bit faint... or was that the lack of oxygen?

How long had he been in there?

It seemed the constant trickle, the lack of space, was making him dizzy and lose consciousness every few seconds.

He woke up screaming and panting in fear, bloodied as he was banging his face against the glass, but he did not have enough room to hurt himself.

And the water kept trickling down on his head, soaking him through and through; every time he tried to think about it, think how he had ended here, another drop fell, and another, the water smothering any kind of helpful reasoning.

" HELP!" he screamed at some point, over and over again; he didn't know when he passed out from that, but afterwards his throat was sore and he could barely utter a sound.

Up to his knees now, how long could it possible take to fill this space with water, with just a drop falling every second?

He realized some time later that he had been making mental calculations to know how long it would take to be submerged, he didn't know how many hours he had spent at it.

Half-thigh.

How had this happened, why? Who had done this to him? Why? He was sobbing like a baby when the lights suddenly turned on, and all his homies, his gang, his best pals came in laughing their asses off.

" Haha look at him!" Stevie said, snickering. " Crying like a baby, tough guy? " he teased.

Scott was so relieved he started laughing hysterically and crying at the same time. " Ha, guys, you guys, you got me, you got me good, you guys, "

He could not stop babbling, it felt so good to see human faces, even if they were mocking him. All he wanted was to reach out and hug them, he did not even feel ashamed, they had made their point, whatever it was.

" Just get me out of here, ok, guys, get me out of here? " he cried while they continued scoffing at him, acting as though he was the best exhibition of patheticness they had ever seen.

None of them made a move to pull him out, or break the glass, they kept snickering at him, making him cry more.

" Please guys, I can't take this anymore, just get me out, please, "

And suddenly, they were gone, no light, just damp darkness... and the trickle, unstopping, unstoppable.

Scott started wheezing in incomprehension. " Guys!!!!!!!!!!" he cried out, but his voice was so hoarse, so faint, it barely left the confines of his water tomb.

Even as the image imposed itself on his mind, he knew it was true. Someone had decided to kill him, torturing him to death for all he was worth.

He sobbed in panic and must have lost consciousness for some time, for the water was now up to his navel, with no sign of stopping.How many times did he repeat the phrase, " This is not happening, " " Wake up, just wake up, " but nothing changed anything, still he remained in the human-sized bottle aquarium.

And no one would come help or save him.

Who had done this to him, why? His mind went over his every enemy he had, anyone who could hate him to this point, to want to break him apart while killing him... and he could not find a single culprit.

He was a good guy, he had had some back breakups, but no girl could ever have thought of something like this, no girl could have gone through with it, how had they even managed to put him in this contraption?

He couldn't move his head but he tried to move his fingers and toes, and all he felt was numbness. His extremities had been in the water for too long, he was losing all senses, touch and reality combined.

It didn't matter who had put him there, he had to get out! Now before it was too late!

He wriggled and struggled desperately and woke up to find the water up his chest.He could barely get a real breath in. The air was getting bad, there was no air, the pressure on his chest was increasing, he could not keep on like this, he was going to die.

He started crying again, he felt dry inside, his lips parched, even though he was slowly getting submerged. He wasn't sure he had thought of drinking the water constantly falling on his head, this was too surreal to be believable.

Not enough air, too much pressure building, that feeling of being stifled, slowly crushed to a pulp, and he was alone, so alone, no one cared about him, no one was looking for him, no one would come to save him.

That was the most despairing truth.

He was loved by many, wasn't he? He was popular, but who cared? Who really wondered what was up with him, who saw through his tough veneer and asked him why he snorted, why he drank, why he smoked weed?

They were all swarming around him in parties but no one gave a damn about him, that was the awful truth.

Wasn't this the proof?

He would not have any rescuer, he would not have a last minute save, he would stay in his glass tomb and drown.

The sobs came, but he could barely breathe enough to sob, it robbed the energy right out of him.

He fell in another restless slumber, a faint, in truth, and when he opened his eyes again, the water was up to his neck, and he was almost numb with fear, incapable of feeling panic. He could see through the glass, distorted in a way, and what he saw almost managed to draw him out of the numbness.

A boy in expensive clothes drinking and smoking. The same boy, kind of handsome, kind of fake bully, snorting and popping pills.

The same boy, laughing hysterically, crying , dropping on the floor, incapable of handling the emptiness of his life.

An empty glass case, a trophy life, and no one inside.

The water was up to his nose , climbing into his nostrils, down his airways, filling his lungs...

The boy climbing into the glass tomb after setting the water to a trickle, sealing the trap underneath his feet.

He was choking when the boy's face stopped being distorted by the glass of the aquarium, the glass tomb, what would be his eternal resting place.

He was looking at his own reflection.

Mystery
1

About the Creator

Véronique Racine

I am a hobby writer who adores science fiction and intelligent characters and storylines!

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

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Comments (1)

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  • Valerie Racine2 years ago

    Next time bring the key!

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