SIM:West – Breen Prisoner, Back Down

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Breen Prisoner, "Back Down"

(( Cell, Somewhere, Tyberius VII ))

:: His mind was beginning to speak in riddles to his ears. His eyes were having an argument with his mouth. His nose refused to agree with anything his eyebrows were saying and his hands were shaking again. In the corner of the small room, the man wrapped his arms around his legs and cuddled them to his chest protectively.::

:: And the only thing he could hear was the old holovid recording of Johnny Cash singing and playing the guitar. It played on a continuous loop and he wasn't sure for how long it had been playing, or if it was actually playing at all, because the volume went up and down when something was going on outside the cell then whacked itself up to full surround-sound when he was trying to sleep.::

:: His stomach wrenched again inside his abdomen and threatened to squeeze the very life out of his innards. He arms went to encircle his body and he let his forehead rest on his raised knees. It was as though there was something trying to burst forth from his lower intestines and eat him from the inside out. It could get worse. The next was never like the first.::

:: There were memories of a child smiling at him and holding her arms out. There were flashes of a beautiful woman looking at him, waiting for him to catch up. She was always waiting for him to catch up because she moved so much faster than he did. She never stumbled or faltered or staggered; she moved so gracefully and when he watched he felt in such of awe of her that he hated it when his eyes refused to show him anymore.::

:: Almost as suddenly, the pain passed and relief flooded his system like endorphins coursing through his bloodstream. It floated past his brain that he was suffering from a chemical imbalance and this was all just in his head; it was a lack of nutrients causing the hallucinations, causing the pain, causing the singing cowboy in his ear, causing the crippling sensation he felt when he tried to walk. It was all chemicals that he was lacking, cleverly attacking his cerebrum with deft knowledge of where to hit him most.::

:: In between the guitar chords, he heard the footfalls of someone on the other side of the forceshielded doorway. Instinctively, the man covered his ears with the palms of his hands so he couldn't hear. If he couldn't hear, if he couldn't see, if he couldn't "feel" then he wouldn't be there. He had to be somewhere else. He was somewhere else. He wasn't there. They were liars. They were all liars.::

:: But the pain had already started tearing through again.::