I’ve never been so afraid in my life. Huddled up in the corner, I feel the cold stone pressing against my back. I shiver as a particularly cold draft blows through the dungeon. The torches are going out and the flickering light is making it hard to see. My eyes hurt. Sighing, I slump down, trying my very best to ignore the throbbing pain from the lashes I’d gotten yesterday. The blood is dry and it sometimes falls off in flakes.
The squeaks of the rats dominate the place; it is never truly silent here. The wails of the young ones, the scurrying feet of vermin, the labored breathing of the elderly. The rattle of chains, dripping of water, it sometimes drives me insane. I wish I was. It wouldn't be so painful otherwise. I doubt my old bones can take it much longer. Youth or otherwise, it matters not. Here, everyone is equal. Everyone is trapped.
It disgusts me when I look across my cell at the others. I can see them rotting away, the life fading from their eyes. Some have given up completely, and are just waiting to be put out of their misery. The newer ones always struggle, and I have to keep the bile down when I see them after they return from torturing sessions. The new prisoners always have it worse.
It is then that the torch in my cell completely flickers out. I’m left alone in the darkness, and I can imagine my eyes glowing in the dark. What color are my eyes again? I can’t remember. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to actually look at myself. I can’t even see my reflection in a puddle of water, with all the grime and sludge. I suppress a grimace as I remember the time that I tried to drink it, out of desperation. The guard is watching me, a scroll in hand.
“You all!” he shouts. “You are to be hanged tomorrow, at dawn." I close my eyes and try to not panic at the thought of my impending death. I fail. I start to breathe faster and I can hear my heart beating in my chest. It's usually such a comforting sound, since it tells me I am alive. But now, it just counts down the seconds until I finally leave this world. One two three four five sixseveneightnineten...
Sweat is pouring down my entire body and I begin to shake. The door swings open, though I barely take notice. The light, which I used to welcome, is of no importance now. I just need to keep counting, and I'll be safe. The rough stone further shreds my back to pieces, and blood flows anew. I pay no heed to this. Just count, just count. Twenty-threetwenty-fourtwenty-five.
A guard, a different one this time, stands over me, a look of disgust on his face. I don’t care and continue to panic. He scowls and kicks my side. As soon as his boot connects with my body, I feel an agonizing, burning sensation. I yelp out in both surprise and pain, all thoughts of fear completely disappearing. He smirks in satisfaction and drags me out of the cell. I do not protest. I’m about to die anyway so what’s the use?
I cannot remember how long it took him to finally throw me into the holding area, along with almost a dozen others. I can feel some old wounds opening up again as my body is dumped onto the rough stone floor. I can hear the quiet sobs of the younger ones and the calm breathing of the older prisoners. I do not care.
I do not know how long I’ve been in here. It is quiet now, deadly silent. The only sound I can hear is my own breathing. Nobody speaks. Finally, a young girl comes to me and tugs gently on my arm. I feel a tiny jolt of pain shoot up my arm but pay no heed to it this time. Instead, I turn to her with a questioning look on my face.
She can’t be much older than six. She is tiny, and quite cute, actually. Her hair is matted with blood and dirt, though I think it is brown. Her eyes are wide and innocent, even after being captured here. I can see the tears in her eyes, which are still rimmed with red. “I’m scared to die,” she whispers to me.
I cannot stop a smile from appearing on my face. This smile contains no joy, no mirth; only bitterness, regret, and resignation. I can see that she shies away from me, perhaps out of fear, but still longs to stay close. In a scratchy, hoarse voice, I reply.
“Me too.”
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