I awoke in Black, cold silence. I breathed deep the stale, moist air and knew I was surrounded by death. I wasted no time in clawing frantically for salvation yet the light eluded me and I suspected all was hopeless. The necropolis around me echoed of decay. Although I could rake at my deceased neighbors with ease, the stone door that kept me from the waking world was a solid obstruction.
I knew soon my grasping at the stones would rend my digits raw. And yet I clawed and screamed hoarse.
The nails begin to peel away from their bed, embedding in the stone as a savage reminder of my futility.
One nail gone. Why am I here?
Two. Who put me here?
Three. I think I know.
Four. He said he’d find me but I got cocky. I thought myself untouchable.
Five. I let my guard down. Perhaps I deserve this.
I only wish he’d had the decency to grant me a quick death. But I know, in time, by way of slow agony, I will join the legion of rot that surrounds me.
I’ll have to accept it. The worst part is the boredom.
I know what I’ll do.
My fingers are now red, wet lumps of flesh.
Maybe I’ll conduct an experiment.
I wonder of the sound of bone on stone…