The mind gets up to such strange things alone with just ones own thoughts. At first, it seems sound. As the hours pass, though, the thoughts turn to questions. Then to doubts. Then to thoughts that travel past where the edges of the map don’t continue,
where you fall off the edge of the globe that is without dimension and flat—where there be dragons
It seems soundproof inside the underground, no sounds seem to penetrate the farmhouse floors and so, not possible to know what is happening.
I did not go right away to the cage where the computers are with the cameras and the internet, being too scared to move a muscle or make even the slightest sound.
Even as I tremble and cannot stop. I have known this kind of fear before. Too often. I’ve been here before in my mind and well recognize this kind of fear ....you would think I would be accustomed by now
It seems that even the tiniest sound I make is amplified in the hollowed catacomb-like cellar-basement ....I hardly let myself move for hours. And after awhile the shaking gets painful.... and with it, that slippery slope, my mind sinks deep to; those monster dark places I’ve known before when living in fear ....and hiding
but after what had to be hours of shaking, I become aware of pain and it is the pain that prompts me to move
Remembering a bottle of ibuprofen in a drawer by the computer I usually use as I work on orders, I force myself to move from the cramped position huddled inside the box on the conveyor belt when I landed there through the trapdoor shaft.
For hours I had gone over thoughts.... reminded myself that I never knew this basement even existed and thus knew it was well hidden
....but then debate with myself with the question —would the intruder think to look in the farmhouse? If so, was it possible to hear if someone was under the ground floor? As I never had the opportunity yet to test this as I was always either alone here anyway or Jörn was with me, so knowing if sounds are audible had not been witnessed yet for myself and I didn’t know if Jörn had ever been there without my awareness when I was in the farmhouse painting.
Still, as it was so very quiet down here, like a tomb that it was at times quite eerie, I might believe that indeed it must be soundproof —but, the memory of the disguised person wearing the full face mask and how threatening his appearance was left me with a sense of extreme trepidation on whether or not to depend on the assumption
With my phone now dead there was also the attraction to be drawn to tempt it in order to try and reach someone for help using the business line Jörn installed for Cabaret or his other work—and by way of the internet, I thought it worth the chance if I was careful not to make a sound. I climb out of the box carefully and lower myself from the conveyor belt.
I go to the gated caged part taking care of every step, minding where I step and keeping every step silent. First to the drawer where the ibuprofen is. It is when I glance up noticing the cameras while swallowing them down that I think of Jörn’s surveillance network. The few times he had been here with me doing work, I had watched him fiddle with the computer programs that alters the monitor to show angles of other live cameras from wherever he had it wired to. And because I had seen him do this before, I switch on the surveillance monitors .... and realize it is already angled and running .... not that this should surprise me as he had recently mentioned this to me a few times but I had not really paid much attention.
So.... logic would tell me.... as it may be viewed here on this screen, no doubt, wherever Jörn is, so too could Jörn view....
and considering my anger at Jörn, did this make me feel better?
.... the jury is still out on this, I decide
sometimes the ropes you reach for in the darkness you only know are there when you feel that rope pull you back to solid ground
when you know they are really there
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