Sitting in the dark, I can feel the raw fear and the dankness of my solitary cell, although it can’t be considered a cell, being 4 feet each way. The walls are vices, closing around me, and I feel more claustrophobic than ever. There is nothing in here, save for me. No bed, no chair, no john, nobody. I’m huddled in a wet corner, like a rat shying away from light.
I’m in a dungeon from a medieval castle, or at least I think I am. The cold air penetrates my thin shift. By now, it feels like someone has poured liquid ice into my bones. The fear is so thick, I can almost see it, a misty figure in the dark of night. I can smell Death, as I hear him shuffling down the corridor. He stops outside of my cell, and as the realization hits me, he slithers between the foreboding bars of my revolting abode. As Death enters me, a crooked smile crawls across my lips.
