Thursday, 10 July 2008

Twentieth day

No interrogation. No reading of my diary - the neglected pages sit there, the ramblings of my mind like unresolved teenage angst, begging for attention. Yet time passes and nothing happens.

Is M detained? What is M saying? Should I be 'confessing' all? The Prisoner's dilemna, of course, says nothing of the guilt of the parties - and a rational player cooperates with his captors and an abandons of his fellow detainee. In this game there are three players. My jailer - What is he thinking? He's read my diary, but somehow I think it is unlikely that I'm going to be reading his in the near future. When does he give up? When does he let me go?

Yet I know it is fruitless to bother to try and construct some elaborate myth - I do not have the imagination to sustain some long-spun yarn, and I'm sure I'd start to contradict myself. On the other hand, I no longer feel sure that I'll ever be free this way, telling them nothing. I wonder if the outside world misses me, or even knows what has happened to me. It is hard to imagine that anyone is aware that I am here, apart from those few people I've seen in the last three weeks.

What I would do for a window...

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