Left For Dead

December 29, 2010
Rats skittered across the cold, dank floors, their eyes glowing with hunger. The old ceiling had cracks and hidden holes in it, allowing water to trickle down, taunting the prisoner’s thirst and hunger. Puddles lay on the floor, creating small streams that ran down the slanted floor toward the dark doorway. The only light came from a small yellow candle, throwing frightening shadows across the jagged, deep gray stone walls, making it seemed as though monsters of fiction were coming to life on the rough surfaces.
Every sound echoed brashly, filling the man’s ears. Dull, silver shackles kept him anchored tightly to the wall, leaving very little room to move about in the shabby cell. His cries went unnoticed, except by the rats, whom were constantly in his presence. Smells assaulted his nose, causing him to gag. The blood, bodily wastes, and carcasses of the forgotten dead reeked of sorrow and fear.
The cell’s barred door let in a damp draft. Day by day, the space grew colder, causing him to shiver on the floor. A diminutive bed sagged in the corner, taunting him with the promise of a small comfort in this place in which he was ensnared. Across from him stood a rusty washbasin, undoubtedly unused. What he assumed was at one time a toilet was next to it, also unused and worn with age. On the table, which the candle stood upon, was an assortment of what from his viewpoint looked like human bones.
Along with the water, the sounds of the Transylvanian countryside found their way into the room. During the day, carriages rattling, bird’s calls, and alien voices floated down, muffled by the layers of stone above his head. At night, wolves’ howls, and inhuman screams mingled with the other sounds he heard. He didn’t dare to ponder what, or who, the shrieks were coming from. They sounded tormented, as if they were being beaten to the ground by the devil himself. As if the fangs of the mythological creature – the vampire, were piercing their necks and draining their veins of all blood. The sounds were making the man deranged, causing him to drag his nails down the indentions engraved in the walls by past prisoners’ madness. He dragged his feet across the floors, drawing the dirt, dust, and mummified insects toward himself.
Eventually the moisture in the small enclosure snuffed out the meager light of the candle. Darkness fell upon the room, and this was worse than the monster-making shadows. Now, all of the sounds drifting around were intensified, allowing his imagination to run rampant. The rats grew bolder, scampering over his feet and under his legs. The leaks in the ceiling now gave the impression of a rainstorm. The prisoner stood in the darkness shifting back and forth over his allowed vicinity, finally understanding that this would be the place of his demise.





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GreenEyedGirl14 said...
Jan. 8, 2011 at 1:30 pm
Oh! This was a description of Dracula's dungeon!
 
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