Pacing in circles, I pause for a moment and listen to the scritch-scratch of a million claws as the rats of this world scurry through the maze that surrounds my cell. The sound of them is a constant white noise, grinding out my ability to think as I pace my heartbeats away. The rats have their maze while I will remain here, turning in circles on this endless wheel in the dark.

The darkness here is a constant reminder, of what I’m not quite sure. Once, I could recall memories of light, of being illuminated but now these words carry little meaning and I must be reminded of their purpose. Pity there is no one in this darkness to remind me.

No one to talk to, and nothing to see. Nothing to move me. Only fear, taking countless forms as it lurks in each shadow, waiting to devour me.

It is always cold in here too. A biting wind from oblivion blows through now and again, gnawing through my flesh and grinding ice into my bones. While my mind grows more and more numb my body continues to feel the full sting of it.

The floor is hard and damp and devoid of any distinguishable texture. The walls though, that seem to spring from nowhere each time I take a step, are flat yet rough to the touch, like bricks or cinderblock. Escape is futile. Still my fingertips are cracked and bleeding from the hours spent clawing away at the bricks of pain which constitute my prison of agony.

Rats can chew through just about anything, given enough time. If I were a rat I could probably gnaw my way out of this cell. But I’d rather die in here, cold and alone, than spend one day in the sunshine if it meant becoming one of them.

Sometimes my head begins to throb with pain, before I notice that I have been pounding it on the wall, for God knows how long. There is no time here, so it may have happened only once. Or I may repeat this madness every day of my life and forget when I fall asleep. I don’t even know whether or not I sleep, or if I am dreaming all the time. If I am, then shame on my mind for framing such a grim environment to house me in.

The sound of the rats is growing louder again. Or perhaps my mind is losing the ability to focus on anything else. I must get back to pacing. Back to the wheel. It will get me nowhere. Back to where I started.



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