Matted and dirty, my once white hair dangles in front of my eyes. My clothes clung to my body, soaked in water and sweat, along with the blend of blood that had come from the lashings I endured from those I once regarded with trusting eyes.

Lifting my eyes, I confronted my harsh reality once more. The floor, barely illuminated by the light from the outside of this prison casts a feeble light onto my unsightly crippled legs.

With every reluctant awakening, I ask myself pathetically in my mind: When will they kill me? The repetition of this cycle, an unending torture of false hope that someone will save me, has rendered time itself meaningless.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Powerless and left to rot myself to death unless they remember to come and laugh at my suffering, a mere shell of the person I once was. Is this what they meant to be living but not alive? A bitter chuckle escaped my lips — acknowledging that they had succeeded in reducing me to this wretched state that I had never imagined.

Suddenly, the floor beneath me began to vibrate, the tremors rattling before escalating into violent slams. Was this an earthquake? Is my death finally nearing?

The formidable walls that I felt were unbreakable started to crack, and I felt the sting of rubble against my cheeks. As the tremors intensified, a heaviness settled on my head, the world around me descending into darkness. My vision faded, my consciousness slipping away.

In that fleeting moment before eternal darkness came to my embrace, a desperate plea escaped my lips, "If anything out there akin to a god exists, hear my plea. Never let me cross paths with the devil again. I know my sin."