Chapter 1

• Prologue
• Please……
• Please…… help me…
• Is anybody there?
• Her wails echo out in the shadows.
• It is below freezing, and her breath displays in the air while gloom is all around the space she occupies. Cobwebs look at home across the pillars. The floor and room are in a contaminated chaos, and with confusion piled high in all corners; you would struggle to see her figure in the shadows. Everything on the floor has become spoiled from the leaking pipes that burst ages ago.
• Positively Disgusting!!!
• The place cannot help but stink of mold. Rats and insects are crawling around like they have not a care in the world. Must be nice to be free. Free a term she never believes she will get to be. The infestation has overwhelmed her space, including rats’ feces and the left behinds of insects. It has affected each lung, which has today developed into an endless cough. The anguish in her chest has been progressing on for the last two days, but no one has been down to treat it, or no one implies they even care. The smell of death is in the air from the remnants left over from them devouring their kin.
• In all the speculations, she cannot fathom being ingested to have that freedom for herself.
• Nope…
• Negative…
• Her mind would have to create something different to get the freedom she desires.
• Stirring to them, trying to dine on her flesh is not something one would ever want to wake up to, and struggling to get them off her is always a challenge. It is hard to fight when you have so many at a time attacking, but she will not permit them the satisfaction of eating her alive. The bites and claw marks are getting infected the longer she stays in this hellhole. The pain is getting more unbearable as time goes by.
• Please… help me… it is not but a whisper now.
• Voice is hoarse, and although no one comes to the cries, she still tries to call out for help.
• Covered in muddy mold, hair was hanging in a matted mess down her shoulders. Which, who expected anything less, knowing there is nothing to use, but her fingers the best she can? With no protection on her feet, she has sores that keep busting open every time she tries to take a step the longer she is down here. Her wrists and ankles have lacerations from the chains digging into her skin.
• Please help me… Her wails get louder as the clanging of the chains hits the concrete floor, but no sound is made in the distance. Silence.
• Despair has taken over her.
• She cries repeatedly for help every day for freedom, but life never delivers.
• She screams, why? Yanking the chains, causing more bruises and opening the gashes up, but still no answer.
• “She cries”, she cries for someone to help, but no one comes.
• Why?
• Why her? What did she do to deserve this, but still silence is all that answers? She closes her eyes and each day she repeats, letting the darkness swallow her like a blanket.