New Straitjacket Tech for '63 Pt. 01

As I stood there, barely balanced, half-naked, helpless, I started to lose my composure. Tears welled up in my eyes, I heaved, choked, and almost began to sob. But at the last minute, I stopped myself. I wouldn't give in to despair, I couldn't really. Part of me realized that if I started crying my nose would inevitably become stopped up, and I wasn't certain how well I'd be able to breathe through my mouth, gagged as I was.

I had to be strong.

I looked around the room, really for the first time. I was one of the empty office suites that was used mostly for storage, but also for the occasional photography session. This room was largely empty, with a neutral photo backdrop on the other side. It was filled with daylight as the blinds were all open, the lights on. The one next to it, through a double-doorway, was filled with an assortment of furniture, file cabinets, boxes, and a variety of office equipment. The blinds were drawn, the lights off, so it was rather dark.

One wall of this room was panels of windows, from the ceiling to three-feet above the floor. I decided to make my way over with little, tentative hops. Of course I'd been tied up a few times before (what girl hasn't?), cowboys and indians, cops and robbers, where I'd inevitably been the hostage, and I had hopped around then. I remembered that if I kept my body straight and bounced on my feet, with some help from my knees and hips, I could keep my balance pretty well.

However, this time I also had to focus on keeping my feet together. I naturally wanted to spread them apart, and each time I did they were stopped by the bindings, and I'd start to lose my balance. So it wasn't quite so simple as in the past.

After what seemed an eternity I made it to the window, only I was going too fast and crashed into it, like I had the wall. For a moment I was sure it was going to shatter and I'd fall to my death. What would they have made of my securely straitjacketed, bound and gagged body lying there in the street? I must have been an escaped mental patient, they'd say, one who had to be dangerous because look at how trussed up she was!

But it held. Of course it did! Windows in high-rise office buildings were as strong as the wall, stronger maybe. It wouldn't break even if I wanted it to.

Looking down, I saw the tiny dots of people moving about, the cars crawling along, stopping, then crawling again. Looking up I could see the other buildings, the sky and clouds reflected in them. A jet flew by, it's contrail stretching lazily out behind it.

There were hundreds, even thousands of people everywhere I was looking. But everyone was so far away, behind walls, in metal boxes. I was entirely isolated. Alone. Helpless.

After staring out the window for several minutes I realized that I was tired of standing, that I needed to sit down. I didn't want to sit on the floor, but there were any number of chairs in the storage room next door. I hopped in that direction.

After another seeming eternity, during which I became slightly more comfortable with this hopping thing, I made it to the doorway. Letting my eyes adjust to the dim light I realized it wasn't as full as I had assumed. And there were, indeed, a cluster of several office chairs off to one side. But that wasn't what caught my eye. No, that would be the couch!