I could barely breathe, let alone escape. Two men on adjacent sides carried me, along with the other captives, within the boundaries of a barred box. I am to be transported across the Namib desert, or so they told me. My abductor hid from labour and the blazing sun; his transportation was to be accommodated by a miniature tent onboard a hefty camel. Filthy water and scarce pieces of bread made a single day's meal. After all, it was instructed that I'd be kept alive; it made no apparent difference if I was to hang by a simple thread.
My caged companions, whom I've only known since the beginning of my trip, have lost whatever minds they had. Frantic chattering, and howling screams controlled their current language. They, themselves, are lost now. I suppose I am next to follow. That is, if it hasn't begun already. I could almost make out thick figures dancing with the dissipating heat. My only defence is to keep myself fully calm and cling onto even the slightest consciousness.
"What do they look like, your captors? Can you see their faces?"
"They seem familar but ... I can only sense them... I don't know who they are... and ... their faces are ... well ... they're twisted..."
"Their faces are twisted? How so?"
"I don't know, abnormal, disfigured maybe."
"see what happens ne ... Actually this ought to be enough for now."
I eventually awaken at the sound of a blast-like handclap. My eyes wander madly around an undersized room only to vaguely remember what brought me to this man, now facing me. All I recall is my panting, my hurry to reach him. It took me a moment or so to regain full consciousness, and my ever so familiar memory.
Najee Sedua, 36 years of age, recently married. My introductions usually include nothing too bizarre. That is, until I get into why I need the help I'm seeking. I've gone through enough tests to establish that there is nothing whatsoever wrong with me mentally, and even I had my doubts before then.
Upon arriving at Mr. Lurr's office, master in the study and practise of regression hypnosis, I couldn't help but start with the disappearances. I tended to vanish without a trace, for an hour or even an entire day's span, with no recollection of where I've spent my lost time. I'm reluctant to say that this only became more frequent as I aged. I wondered what Mr. Lurr thought of my claims, my vague symptoms of a damaged mind. He has to believe every word of it, he is nevertheless my last hope. Yes, free if only one answer and reveal it to me.
There is one thing that didn't seem random, a dream that repeated itself every time I faded from existence, taking place in a desert setting. Until now, I could only remember mere fragments of the dream. With Mr. Lurr's aide, I may be able to find some sort of key buried beneath that sea of whitened sand.
I lay there, unfolding my miseries to the man, the miseries I've been forced to furnish my life around. He lowered his head, and remained silent. I found myself competing with a clock's ticking, hanging there on one of the bare walls it was the only thing emanating any sound along mine. Then I felt it, the room grew cold, the lights went dim. The clock's hands became motionless, but still it kept a rhythmic ticking. My limbs became constrained by an unseen grip. They've come for me. Their silhouettes crowd the room. I can hear the cries of the ones they've taken already. Will they bring me back? I am certain that I can barely breathe, let alone escape. Guide me angels and keep me safe, if only this time alone.