Living In The Dark
I sit on a cot. Wrists shackled, they hang heavy, clamped to a chain which is attached to a wall made of damp, musty rock. I walk ten steps and it pulls tight.
The scent of damp earth and excrement fills my nose with every breath.
There is squeaking and scratching from above. My skin crawls. The hairs on my arms rise.
It is pitch black.
My idea of time is skewed. The darkness swallows me, except for a tiny light that flows through the keyhole below a knob.
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Originally published on Medium