Prisoner 240

I could taste the residue of alcohol on my tongue the moment I opened my eyes. My head was spinning and my mouth was burning as if I had swallowed fire and somehow managed to keep it down. The moment I opened my eyes, an intense pain started at the base my skull, working its way over my whole head, making me groan in protest.

The ground dug into my back, the rocky floor bruising my ribs and making it difficult to breathe. Every intake of air was painful, and my whole body groaned in protest. The side of my face that I slept on was throbbing numbly as I swallowed.

I couldn’t tell if it was from the overwhelming smell of body odor and feces or the nausea that ran through my body, but, as I took a deep breath, my stomach lurched, the acid stinging my tongue. Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat and looked around.

At first, all I could see was a blinding light but when my eyes focused, I realized it was just the sun shining through the bars that served as a window. Straightening, my back cracked and my muscles groaned as I attempted to stand.

The world continued to spin yet I remained still, swaying side to side as if I was standing in the middle of a swimming pool with people walking around me, creating a current that tugged at my clothes and body.  It threatened to pull me under, to swallow me completely, and it took me several seconds to find my balance.

Only then did I look down at my vomit-stained clothes and aching body. My head was pounding and my vision was spinning, but as I looked at my hands, I realized something was off.

This wasn’t my body.

The ring on my right hand that I had worn was missing and the hands I now saw were larger and knobbier, the veins making them look more masculine. I pulled up the hem of my shirt and dropped it, looking at the opposite mildew-covered wall, my mouth hanging open in unbelief.

“I’m a guy?” The words left my mouth, echoing the thoughts that were racing through my head.

This wasn’t the first time I had woken up inside someone else’s body. In fact, it had happened 239 times before—this would make it 240.

Sighing, I leaned my head back and stared at the roof, mind racing.

At the beginning of every month, I would wake up in someone else’s body with no memory of the past two days. I would remain in that body for a month and then be moved to another one.

It didn’t faze me that I was a parasite in other people’s bodies. What got to me was the fact that after I left them, they died. No matter where I was, I always got wind of their death only a few days after I had moved on.

Had I killed them or had they already been gone?

Sometimes, I could still feel the soul wandering through every nook and cranny of the body, clinging onto minuscule things in an attempt to stay just a little bit longer. They always leave before the first week was over.

They were scared of me.

I couldn’t blame them. To them, I was a monster, one that was stronger and fiercer than them, ready to fight to the brink of death—of survival. Little did they know that I did my best to help them before I was forced to move on.

Everyone has a goal—one they never get to reach before death pulls them off the edge of reality and sucks their souls away. To you, it may not seem like that big of a deal but to me, it means that I can repay them for their kindness of letting me borrow their body for an extra month.

Whatever that dream was, I would do my best to make it happen before the month was over so they could move on in peace. Sometimes I wouldn’t be able to make it work and that was okay—some goals are too far for someone like me to reach. Other times, I succeed and am able to move on to the next person without regrets.

Taking a deep breath to calm my aching body, I grabbed the cell door and shook it. My fingers were sore, the joints and muscles groaning and complaining as I tightened my hold. Even the smallest movement made me want to shout in protest.

I yelled, doing my best to suppress the screams that rose in the back of my throat, threatening to spill out and release the frustration and pain I had locked away a long time ago.

Another body, another goal.

It was useless to fight for mercy. No one would ever realize that there was a person locked away behind these tear-filled eyes. People would ignore any pleas for help as if they never heard them.

How long would this torture go on for? Was it a punishment for something I had done in the past, one that would extend into all of eternity, or would it eventually come to a stop? Would I ever have a body to truly claim as mine?

Tears trickled down my face, leaving me empty and weak as they dripped from my chin and onto the dirty floor. I could barely make out the guard that stood before me, his mouth moving as he yelled at me. His words were drowned out by the drum-like pounding that rang through my mind, making my bones shake with its echoes.

I wish my soul was made of tears. Then, I would have escaped a long time ago.