Untitled Allegory (Part IV)

HER IDEAL (MORE)

As the white coat slowly turned away from her, she began to focus upon the restraints holding her to the chair. She had never understood their necessity, as if she could move, she certainly would have by now. Re-focusing deeply upon her inability to move, to even clench her fist or move her toes, her paranoia spread over her, pulling her even closer to the chair, its arms and its legs, than the restraints ever could with their thick, scratched brown leather and dulled grey metal.

Aside from blinking, which she began to notice had reached a nearly unconscious level of movement (she found that when her eyes began to dry, her two lids would drop and then—by some equal miracle—instantly re-open) there were no real signs that she was even alive. Her heartbeat was a sign, too, of course, though one had to certainly take into account the faint-ness of it at this point. She began to think:

“If I can’t move, I am dead. If I can’t move, and therefore don’t move, these people will think that I am dead. I think I am blinking, fairly certain I have to be, I must be. But is that enough? If I don’t move, I am dead. And then they will kill me.” The realization came to her too easily. She knew she was right, and her surroundings confirmed it.

The only restraints on her arms that she could completely observe were those located well within her field of vision, just below the horizon of her eyes. That the overall field was restricted let her know there must also be restraints somewhere on her head and neck, as well. She, of course, couldn’t see these, though. Her restricted view and dull memory of the events leading up to this moment allowed her to confirm that there were at least two sets of restraints on her legs, but likely, she noted, probably four. Lastly, though she couldn’t see it now, her head held up too high, she knew she was being restrained at her midsection, somewhere in the vicinity of her waist. All of these straps of hide and steel counted together created one buzzing feeling of numb-ness in her body. Much like her sense of impending doom pulled her down, the very real forces working on her by way of physical restraint created one entire feeling of pain and enclosure. Quite simply, her body’s sensors didn’t differentiate between a spot that was strapped tightly to a chair and a spot on her body tucked neatly under a loose cotton layer. Everywhere felt the same. Every spot on her body was numb and filled with the heat of pain.

With the doctor now walking out of the room (to do what, she could, of course, not be sure), her attention shifted away from her restrained self onto the four faces standing before her, almost in judgment, she thought. To understand her fear, simply imagine yourself in an unknown room in which you are quite explicitly being held captive, surrounded by unknown, and quite often threatening, faces. These people may also be in charge of whether you are allowed to live or you are killed and die.

Her fear ripened each time her attention shifted from one face to another. Their bodies appeared to her as shapeless, humming vehicles on which their heads often repositioned themselves, with attention ever-affixed upon her. At times, the four faces seemed to float, moving freely and without the assistance of the blurred forms of their bodies. Floating, trading spaces, staring down upon her, now the four faces seemed to share one body, or rather, one large almost holographic base. Her mind now saw the heads, attached to the shape-shifting mass, behind some sort of desk or what appeared like a large podium. The rich black wood of this imagined podium (can’t be imagined, though, it is all too real) stood in sharp contrast to the blank white of the room. With the arrival of this vision, she suddenly felt as if she were on trial and in her mind quickly tried to grasp what her crime might be.

The jurors before her, she imagined, held her in this room to try, and ultimately convict, her of some kind of crime. But she was guilty of nothing, or, at least, this is what her mind told her. She was not truly conscious of any of her prior actions, of any events or moments leading up to finding herself seated in the room, yet her subconscious asserted her innocence over and over again. As the vision before her shifted, as the heads and bodies floated in front of her, and as her growing fear continued to build, she began to sense that they were building a case against her. She now saw the bodies gather behind the podium and discuss something together. Now they looked at her. Now they looked away. They talked, then were silent. Then again, and so on. What could they be saying? What could they know that she didn’t? Believing that she had done nothing, that she was ultimately a prisoner with one fate awaiting her, the little life that remained inside of her body began to slip. The vision before her faded as the mass of bodies formed together in a sinister huddle, as if they were in on some sort of plot that she knew nothing about and would be kept from her at all costs. The faces and their podium shifted further and further away from her as she began to observe the room’s events from the perspective of an outsider. As the scene drifted more and more out of focus, the turn of a sleek and silver door knob pulled her attention back and placed her consciousness back behind her own eyes.

With the turn of the handle, the door opened and the man dressed in white, with a face she would now compare to something like an executioner, all hidden angles and tucked away shadows, entered back into the room. It was now obvious that while the four before her decided her case, the grim-reaper in white waited behind the door to carry out the sentence. But now, their decision made, he was back. As he made his way towards her, she noted how he seemed not to walk, but float instead.

“Here he comes,” was all she thought.