Another hooded man brought me dinner last night. I couldn't tell you what it was. It looked like green oatmeal and smelled like rotting food. Somehow it didn't taste as bad. Sort of like apples.
After I ate half of what was given, I went back on the computer. I emailed Maya and asked her if anyone was wondering where I was. I got a reply from her about a half an out later asking who I was.
I told her, "It's me, Alexa."
She said, "You got the wrong email address. I don't know no one named Alexa."
I replied with, "This is Maya Thompson, isn't it"
And she said, "I don't know who you are but you don't go around emailing people random, stupid shit like that. How did you get my email? Because I don't have any of my profiles set to where strangers can see it. This some kind of prank?"
I didn't even reply to that. I just sat on the bed and cried. Am I going mad? Has the world gone mad? Have I slipped into an alternate universe? My parents don't know me and not even my best friends knows me.
I cried myself to sleep on top of the quilt and woke up under it. I suppose one of the cloaked men covered me up. Around 8 a different cloaked man brought me something to eat. It was the same as what was brought for dinner. Along with the food he had books. They are bound in leather and have German writing on the spine. Most of them have locks on them except one. It's empty, like an unused journal. I tried to pick the locks on the others but it was no use.
By lunch time I was served another helping of green, rancid apple mush. This time it was brought to me by a younger man in a cloak. Unlike the others, he skin was smooth, but like the others he was snow white and had no eyes. He sat and watched me eat what little I could. He didn't give off the angry or dark vibes the others did. He seemed more curious. Maybe that's because he's younger than the others.
I looked up at him and asked where I am.
He put a bony finger up to his lips and shook his head.
"What?' I asked, "Does that mean you can't talk or that I shouldn't."
Then he leaned forward and covered my mouth. Like the others, he didn't have to speak for me to hear him. "Don't talk. The others are annoyed with the noise."
We sat looking at each other for an hour. He has this dreamy look on his face. With my luck he'll fall in love with me. I don't plan on letting Stockholm Syndrom set in at any time soon, so he can throw any ideas he has out the nonexistent window of this hellhole.
Now it's almost 4. I've been surfing the web looking up cultists who lock up young women in small rooms, but nothing came up, obviously.
I still have yet to figure this all out. I probably never will.