Untitled

I open my eyes to a darkness that is so dense I can almost touch it. I lay still, staring  into the nothingness, gradually becoming aware of the pain in my right hip and shoulder which are pressed against the hard wooden boards.  I try to stretch my legs out but cramp bites into my left calf. I gasp, grabbing my leg and kneading with my fingers to stop the spasms. How long have I been here?

            The darkness seems to be drawing in, threatening to smother me. I feel the flutter of panic begin to stir in my stomach, like the wings of a moth that is trapped in a lantern.  Breathing  deeply I attempt to control the terror, to contain it, but I feel it rising up my throat. I bite down hard on my tongue. to prevent a scream escaping my parched lips.

            Counting to five I breath in...then out...then in....then out... focusing only on inhaling and exhaling. I do not want to think about anything else - what happened, what might be out there.

             There are no sounds other than my quiet breaths.  Is this a sign that it is finally over? If it really is over why am I still here? Why has no one come to release me?

            I do not wish to know the answer to my questions but my imagination conjures up terrifying images. Fear grips me and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I dig my finger nails into my palms to silence the sobs, but my chest still heaves as hopelessness overwhelms  me.

            I am overcome with emotion for what seems like an hour but is probably just a few minutes. The darkness makes me feel like I'm suspended in time, trapped in a moment while the seconds continue to tick by outside my prison.

            The stillness and silence above scares me. Surely someone should be there, be it friend or foe. There should be the keening of songs for the dead or the revelling of the victorious. But there is nothing.

            A gentle rumbling breaks the silence and I am suddenly aware of the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Groping around up by my head, my fingers make contact with rough hessian. With great difficulty, due to the lack of space and stiff muscles that haven't moved for many hours,  I unfold the cloth and find the hunk of rye bread and wedge of goats cheese inside. I break off a small piece of each, a mouthful only, I don't know how long I must make this last.

            The bread is dry, confirmation that my confinement has lasted longer than a day, more likely two. Chewing slowly, I savour the taste, my stomach growling in anticipation. Groping in the darkness a second time, I find the wineskin and take a sip of the oversweet, honeyed wine, just enough to wet my dry lips and wash down the remnants of the dry bread.

            Above me there is still an eerie, unnatural silence. I desperately want to know what is going on outside but too afraid of what I might find to even attempt to escape. Instead I curl up in a ball, hugging my knees and rocking gently back and forth to relieve the pain caused by the wooden boards pressing hard against my right side.

            There seems to be no other choice than to wait. I must stir up the courage to see this through and try to think positively. I must wait until I am released, someone must know that I am here. I will eat a little bread and cheese, just a mouthful when I am really hungry and sip the wine, only enough to keep me alive. Someone will come before it runs out. I cling to that hope as I feel myself drift back to sleep.