Condemnation (Zen)

[DoS Archive]

From: zenblack@aol.com (Zen Black)
Date: 19 Jun 1999 15:52:29 EDT

Zen sat on his bed, unable to sleep. A low groan, almost involuntary, emanated from his throat. He just shook his head back and forth vigorously. What to do, he thought.
He didn't know how to handle the situation. It was unlike anything he'd ever had to go through before. He had lived most of his life closed off, distant from others, because in war, that was the only way he could live with himself. But now...
It was all so sudden. The walls had fallen down. He had been turned inside out-- it was almost as if a new man had emerged from the inside. And for what? Zen thought a bit cynically. I just got burned again.
He frowned even as he thought that. He knew in some corner of his mind where hope still existed that wasn't the case. It was hard for him to feel otherwise at this moment. The thoughts clanged against each other, like two people in his head having an argument.
Every time I try to open up a little, to let the walls come down for a minute, I get burned and remember why they went up in the first place.
Come on. It's not their fault. And it'll be over soon.
It doesn't matter whose fault it is. And I don't know that I'll be able to make it that long.
Here the argument in his head stopped. He replayed that statement again. I don't know that I'll be able to make it that long. He stopped now to think about it. And even as it scared him to, he realized it was true.
The situation had been taking its toll on him since the first day. And having both of them going had made it even worse. He hadn't seen Jaycy last night; he hadn't seen Marit in several days. That only made him worry all the more that something had gone terribly wrong.
And it was killing him.
Slowly, but surely. He feared, almost as much as he feared for them, that by the time they were finally freed, there would be nothing left of him. He would be empty. Or dead. Or defeated. No matter what happened, he would never be the same again.
He looked over into the mirror and sighed. For the first time, he realized his hair was beginning to turn gray at the roots. Is it from the stress? The pain? He knew the answer.
He lay back down on the bed staring at the ceiling. From his point of view he had three options.
One would be to make things the way they were before-- to put the walls back up, make himself emotionally dead.
The second would be simply to fight it out-- to hold on and stay strong as long as he could. They would be returned soon, after all.
The third?
He shuddered as he thought about it.
Escape.