Day 137

Day 137. As I promised myself, I have managed to maintain this record without hindrance and hopefully without discovery. I retain hope that today may be the last day. So long I have waited for my release as it was promised to me and due to my diligent efforts to maintain this calendar and diary I can now feel the full anticipation without fear for my disappointment. This which has been my home has slowly become to feel as such, that for all its blandness and solidity it has for me taken something of a warm and inviting appearance, due likely to familiarity. Strange that so simple a thing as a slab of concrete should take on a pleasing aspect to the eye and in doing so bring forth disjointed yet not unpleasant memories. The plate under the door, the final meal of my captivity, is both welcome and oddly delicious. I suspect this has less to do with its content than it does with its symbolism. As I savor those distinctive and odd flavors to which I have slowly become accustomed I begin again to wonder at my strange lack of excited anticipation for my forthcoming freedom. Perhaps it will come tomorrow as the release so long awaited becomes a more tangible and real concept which I may handle. I must be sure not to overly excite myself for fear they should deem me unready for the world I have long missed. As usual I feel it necessary to mention that Fred is also well. Despite our disagreements and his unsociable nature we have come to appreciate and respect each other, sharing a familiar and comfortable silence only really found between true friends of long acquaintance who feel no need to burden themselves with the task of speaking should it not be needed. I don’t know how I would have lasted without his company here in this room of ours and it is in him I find the truest comfort and security due to his unchanging nature and rare but thoughtful insights. I looked out of the window again, using Fred’s shoulders as a step as he sat against the wall, with his permission of course, and, though I can see little outside the small opening, I can hear easily the light breeze that so often comes between the bars of our little cell. And today I even heard in the distance that which I believe to have been a bird of some description which made itself heard above the insistent buzzing. I admit that this is one of several aspects of this confinement for which I will hold little fondness on my leaving. For though comfortable as I may be with its constancy I feel that on some subconscious level it has grown to irritate and nag at me.  Much like I believe me and Fred grew to nag and annoy each other as we became less patient with this confinement. I remember his voice before he turned to a more silent and introspective man and even in memory it serves to irritate me. I believe it was on such an occasion that we disagreed to agree, that we decided it was less his subject matter and more the quality of his pitched tones than gnawed at one’s patient sensibilities. I found that as they grew to attain greater volume and an even higher pitch they served to truly attack my liking of the man and lessen my wanting for hearing what he had to say. It was perhaps his tone, or maybe it was his screaming but I felt it necessary that we both find some greater calm, and felt we should achieve this by some harsher means than before used. Though he refused for long after to even exchange words with me I think that time made friends of us again before long and, though less talkative, our friendship deepened. Upon taking his newer pets, however, I find that he may again be attempting to try my patience… perhaps out of some small revenge.  I suspect a similar motive for his refusal to both eat his food and clean up his mess. I lost count how many times I asked him to remove those damned stains and clean the floor on his side of room but as always these civil requests go unanswered, perhaps from some projected defiance for authority. Though I have come to see this cell as my home and castle, I do believe that the garish reds of the wall and the awful smell that Fred began to emanate some time after our single undesirable encounter will make it less difficult for me to say farewell to this place. It is as I look into the empty sockets of Fred’s skull where the flies ate the flesh of his face that I appreciate again, that, for all his faults, the quiet dignity he holds for himself, and the amiable yet reserved nature of his character make him someone I am glad to call my friend and comrade in these difficult times.  But as I turn from that smiling face I see through the small window above his head that the night is once again upon us and lacking any other form of light I will soon have to end what is to be this final entry in my journal. I will miss much of this place which I have learned to gain a fondness for. I will especially miss the quiet companionship of Fred and his wondrously rare qualities. But now I see the shadows moving down the walls, and as they touch me I shiver some. Strange that I earlier did not feel how cold it had become. The light lessens and I will soon be unable to see the pages. Though as charmed as I have often been the amiable silence that Fred maintains I will admit that it has at times lately come to worry me some. This however will soon pass as we bid our farewells. Tomorrow is a day of rejoicing and even stoic Fred will feel the need to join in I’m sure. Admittedly more in feeling than in action I suspect, it’s been a while since Fred has moved at all. But be as it may, I forgive him for not being the most active sort and am ever thankful that despite our differences he still does not object when I ask him to hold me as I sleep. I wonder why Fred doesn’t look at me or why even when he holds me, I feel so cold. But these are not questions for a man facing his freedom and I close now this journal for what I hope to be the last time.

Day 137. I feel proud that even on my final day of captivity I am remembering to maintain this record and calendar.