Early Spring, 1979 - Riley Funk

Early Spring, 1979 - Riley Funk

Within a locked metal drawer, a yellowing plastic bag lays amongst a collection of dust, untouched and seemingly forgotten about for the past few decades. Inside the bag, a small stack of mildewed sheets of paper, napkins, and even torn cloth that were used to write journal entries are topped by a slightly cleaner and sturdier sheet. The top sheet serves as an introduction to the journal entries found among the belongings of a man who had died of dehydration after isolating himself in his apartment. 

When I woke up this morning, or at least I think it was morning, all of the windows were gone too! They disappeared just like the door; there's just wall where they once were. I should've broken through one of them and climbed down when I had the chance, but I probably would’ve busted my head open or something.

I’m starting to wish I hadn't cut the phone line last year, but I know they had my shit tapped. Besides, who am I about to call? 911? They’re probably behind all this!
I don't want to just sit around and try to wait this out, but what can I do, knock on the walls?

The power is officially off, so I’m relying on flashlights and the candles from the tv room for lighting. Now I don’t even have the comfort of my Leave it to Beaver reruns.
On top of everything else, I only have enough food for a maybe a couple weeks if I spread it out. I barely have enough cat food for Bronx to last that long. I kept banging on the walls to see if the neighbors or someone out in the hall would respond. That got me nowhere.

Although the power has been off, the radio turned on and woke me up by blaring a bunch of static after I finally fell asleep. I pulled the plug and turned the volume all the way down, but it just kept going. I feel like it went on for about 2 hours before it finally stopped, but I’m not sure.

I swear, it's like the radio knows when I'm sleeping! It starts up with that static crap every time I start to doze off. I don’t think it wants me to. This can’t keep happening; my sleep cycle is all I have to keep track of the date. 

(incomplete) along with the can opener, but god knows where that is. So I started wailing on the wall with a bowling pin (indeterminable) get through it, but it feels like there’s a brick wall or something beyond the first layer. 

It’s all becoming very clear to me now, the radio wants me to stay awake for my own safety. I’m certain of it. My perception is sharper than ever; I can feel Bronx staring at me when I lay in my sleeping position. (indeterminable) seems to raise my awareness.

I now can understand the hints between the static. It’s been Bronx who has been behind this from the very beginning; he has wanted to trap and devour me (indeterminable) to eventually take my place. I should’ve known after all these years. The hints say I need to make the move first.

Man, I think I've been eating pieces of the carpet or some kind of upholstery, but I can't remember when. There are these weird fibers between my teeth; I’m having a hard time (indeterminable) them out.
I hope this new diet doesn’t continue, I’m so thirsty and that can’t (incomplete)

Today I realized that all of the vents have disappeared too. I hadn’t thought to check on those, not that I could fit through them anyway. I can't find Bronx anywhere, so I had figured he might've escaped through one. I felt around the ceiling to check if they were broken into, (indeterminable) only wall. I don’t think he’s in here anymore, can only hope he's found a way out. 

(incomplete) gotten used to sleeping through the static, but it’s like I can still hear it in my dreams. Now every time I fall asleep, the sound of the static in my dreams brings me right back into this box of an apartment. There is no space for comfort now, I can’t even seem to (Incomplete) 

I had to let out some frustration today and I ended up throwing the phone at the wall in anger, but something banged back! I haven't tried knocking on the walls in a while; it never seemed to do any good. But (indeterminable) to feel very hopeful now, I think I am finally going to find a way out!


About the Author

RILEY FUNK is a 22-year-old unfortunately hailing from the inferno of Southern California. She majors in science at Taft College.

Riley is fairly new to writing, with the exception of her fantasy roleplaying days as an Internet dwelling child.