Wet

The only sounds you'll hear are the drip, drip, drip.

Bound and gagged, while lying face down on the dirty cobble ground I contemplated the fight. The inevitable struggle to break free, to sit up or to even find new view but instead I lied still. The heavy rain pour contributes to my prisons soundtrack and yet I'm more over joyed than unhappy.

Here in this small dark cellar is my home for God knows how long and I may never see sunshine but it's okay because I know that my family is okay. Specifically her.

The ground has slowly eroded around my body and the mud between bricks seems to be seeping through the cracks. I don't know how much longer I have before it sinks but I do know one thing. The man was right. The man with the dark shroud. The man who brought me here. Who sought me out and decided I was the right candidate for destruction. The one who warned me vicariously that the last sound I'll hear is the drip....drip....dri......p.