Sta.sh
You use me almost every day, me and my brothers and sisters. But you don't care a lot about us. See, we are slaves here, doing whatever you want us to do, we can't reufse or say no, or fight you away. 
you always win, we are too weak...or are we? If all of us rise up, we can take over this planet...Imagine, tiny people, like myself, little dots, little squishy looking dots, crawling into your bed while you sleep, hiding in your food, and eventually using YOU to express OUR emotions, make our friends giggle!!! Yes, we will rise...one day...
"I'd like to bring this to a whole new psychosis."
Sweat pinned itself within the air. The temperature rose with every tug on the rope, those thick knots stressing a tight grip around a pair of frail wrists. The time of day became unknown when a busted eye opened to a room full of old colors. The windows were sheathed with a silver shield--a cheap brand of aluminum foil, and as if it were a mirror, he starred at his crumpled reflection.
"Did you hear me?"
Distance became difficult to judge. One eye swollen, and the other hazy, her body wobbled for an impossible freedom. Her strength weak, she respond:
"Where am I?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"I--"
He glared.
He stepped while finishing: "Do not know."
"You--"
He kneeled before her. Suddenly, the pale colors of the room blurred. Her breath left her swiftly, and the man starred at her under such propulsion. The swinging ceiling fan chattered. The swinging ceiling fan chattered. It chattered.
A rapid heartbeat tampered with the tension.
"Ask me another question?"
"Why?"
"Is that your question?"
"Is that yours?"
Behind a jerking breath, the standing man squinted his eyes.
"Ask me another."
She struggled for breath under the heavy constriction of the ropes, the backside of the chair bent uncomfortably into her backside.
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