machine
instantly. I had no cup handy so I just cupped my hands under the
flowing water and then pulled them back to my face to suck up the
water from them like a horse sucks up water from a trough. It took
about a dozen handfuls of water to abate my thirst since I always
managed to lose most of it before it reached my mouth, but I didn’t
care. I was so thirsty that the water out of the machine tasted
like liquid gold to me. Hands down it was the best water I’d ever
had in my life.
After quenching my thirst, I decided to wash
my head and face since they were feeling particularly grubby after
a day of beatings and crying. The cold water I splashed on my head
felt marvelously refreshing. When I was all done bathing I closed
the lid and let the washer complete its cycle on the previously
soured load of clothes. Not because I really thought the clothes
would benefit from a second washing, but because I was just too
lazy to put them in the drier.
I started to head back to my chair but
realized that I couldn’t see it nearly as well as I could only
moments before. I looked up towards the door and saw that the light
shining underneath it was much dimmer. I only puzzled this out for
a second before I realized it was getting late in the day and the
sun was going down.
‘Well, it’s as good a time to get some sleep
as any, I suppose, but first let’s get those fingers taped up’, I
thought to myself.
So I shuffled my way over to my chair and
felt around for my tape and sat there in the dark wrapping tape
around the last three fingers of my right hand.
With my fingers all taken care of, I unfolded
the chair until it was almost completely flat, (only the head
portion was slightly raised) and lay down to get some shut eye.
That was how I ended my day on June 12, 1990, my first day in the
dark.
CHAPTER 7
I fell asleep almost instantly; my traumatic
day having worn me out, but unfortunately didn’t stay that way for
very long. I awoke after about two hours of sleeping because my
bladder was full to the point of bursting.
I rolled over onto my back and stared up at
what would have been the ceiling, if it hadn’t been so dark that I
couldn’t see it at all.
‘Well, crap,’ I thought to myself. ‘Here’s a
problem I hadn’t considered. Just where the Hell am I supposed to
pee?’
I lay there for several minutes trying to
decide where I was going to pee, and finally decided that if I
didn’t go pee somewhere, I was going to pee wherever I was.
I had considered going to the back of the
basement to try and find an old bucket or something, but now that
the entire basement was completely dark I decided that the risk of
trolls and tentacle wielding blobs had increased significantly, and
I’d rather wet myself than face those beasts.
With the idea of searching out a bucket shot
down, I could think of no other viable alternative. I figured I was
either going to be forced to pee my pants or just pee on the floor.
I didn’t like either of those choices. I crossed my legs and kept
trying to think.
‘Well,’ I thought miserably, ‘if I wet
myself, at least I can wash my clothes in the washer.’
As soon as that thought had finished racing
through my urine soaked brain I reached up and smacked my forehead
as a symbol of my oafishness. As if to reinforce the reality of my
oafishness, I used my right hand to do it.
“Ow! Sonofa…!” I hollered out loud. My right
hand was still damned sore and did not like impacting my forehead
so violently.
In my pain I temporarily forgot the need to
pee until I realized I was starting to pee just a little bit,
though unintentionally.
“Ah crap,” I muttered as I stood and
approached the washing machine. I had to move slowly, feeling my
way, because without the faint grey bloom of light shining in from
under the door, the nebulous darkness of the basement was
treacherous and I knew there was a stool nearby, waiting to trip me
up.
I managed to stem the flow of urine as
instantly. I had no cup handy so I just cupped my hands under the
flowing water and then pulled them back to my face to suck up the
water from them like a horse sucks up water from a trough. It took
about a dozen handfuls of water to abate my thirst since I always
managed to lose most of it before it reached my mouth, but I didn’t
care. I was so thirsty that the water out of the machine tasted
like liquid gold to me. Hands down it was the best water I’d ever
had in my life.
After quenching my thirst, I decided to wash
my head and face since they were feeling particularly grubby after
a day of beatings and crying. The cold water I splashed on my head
felt marvelously refreshing. When I was all done bathing I closed
the lid and let the washer complete its cycle on the previously
soured load of clothes. Not because I really thought the clothes
would benefit from a second washing, but because I was just too
lazy to put them in the drier.
I started to head back to my chair but
realized that I couldn’t see it nearly as well as I could only
moments before. I looked up towards the door and saw that the light
shining underneath it was much dimmer. I only puzzled this out for
a second before I realized it was getting late in the day and the
sun was going down.
‘Well, it’s as good a time to get some sleep
as any, I suppose, but first let’s get those fingers taped up’, I
thought to myself.
So I shuffled my way over to my chair and
felt around for my tape and sat there in the dark wrapping tape
around the last three fingers of my right hand.
With my fingers all taken care of, I unfolded
the chair until it was almost completely flat, (only the head
portion was slightly raised) and lay down to get some shut eye.
That was how I ended my day on June 12, 1990, my first day in the
dark.
CHAPTER 7
I fell asleep almost instantly; my traumatic
day having worn me out, but unfortunately didn’t stay that way for
very long. I awoke after about two hours of sleeping because my
bladder was full to the point of bursting.
I rolled over onto my back and stared up at
what would have been the ceiling, if it hadn’t been so dark that I
couldn’t see it at all.
‘Well, crap,’ I thought to myself. ‘Here’s a
problem I hadn’t considered. Just where the Hell am I supposed to
pee?’
I lay there for several minutes trying to
decide where I was going to pee, and finally decided that if I
didn’t go pee somewhere, I was going to pee wherever I was.
I had considered going to the back of the
basement to try and find an old bucket or something, but now that
the entire basement was completely dark I decided that the risk of
trolls and tentacle wielding blobs had increased significantly, and
I’d rather wet myself than face those beasts.
With the idea of searching out a bucket shot
down, I could think of no other viable alternative. I figured I was
either going to be forced to pee my pants or just pee on the floor.
I didn’t like either of those choices. I crossed my legs and kept
trying to think.
‘Well,’ I thought miserably, ‘if I wet
myself, at least I can wash my clothes in the washer.’
As soon as that thought had finished racing
through my urine soaked brain I reached up and smacked my forehead
as a symbol of my oafishness. As if to reinforce the reality of my
oafishness, I used my right hand to do it.
“Ow! Sonofa…!” I hollered out loud. My right
hand was still damned sore and did not like impacting my forehead
so violently.
In my pain I temporarily forgot the need to
pee until I realized I was starting to pee just a little bit,
though unintentionally.
“Ah crap,” I muttered as I stood and
approached the washing machine. I had to move slowly, feeling my
way, because without the faint grey bloom of light shining in from
under the door, the nebulous darkness of the basement was
treacherous and I knew there was a stool nearby, waiting to trip me
up.
I managed to stem the flow of urine as
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