liber abaci {n-shot}
Oct 22, 2017 23:14:33 GMT -5
Post by Lyn𝛿is on Oct 22, 2017 23:14:33 GMT -5
[Googlefont="Kalam:400"]
Arne Edvard Selberg |
The second time you awake, your stomach aches with hunger.
It is dark. It has been dark for quite a while, and your eyes are drawn to the faint lines of light that emerge from the cracks surrounding the trapdoor. They swim in front of your vision, turning into a flickering lattice like thin bright wires netting you in.
Your hands are still painfully swollen from the ropes. The pain, however, is not all that commands your attention. After so long alone, every sound seems amplified; you can hear water rushing through pipes in the wall, you can hear the building itself creaking. It's too loud. You think you hear people talking upstairs, but the words make no sense, and if you cannot trust your own senses, if you cannot trust your own mind, then what is left?
The room is shrinking, closing in on you. Eventually, its volume will be small enough that it will crush you altogether. You wish for her to come back, you want to see a light, a face, because anything is better than this endless stretch of empty darkness.
But you have been abandoned. You are utterly convinced of this now. The lattice, the light, the feelings of ropes against your skin, you reach for something to sense, to grasp onto, but she is gone and you are helpless.
You know that a man can live three days without water. You are not dead yet, unless the afterlife is being trapped in Ella Tracy's basement for all eternity. But your throat is parched and your breaths are raspy, and if she does not return for you - if she has forgotten in her madness that humans must be fed and watered - then you will die her, and no one will know that you are gone.
You must escape. Even if she comes back now, even if she ties the ropes even tighter like after your first escape attempt, you cannot sit by and let yourself quietly die. But you must first steady your brain, and think.
Your voice sounds foreign to you; it shakes as you begin counting numbers quietly in hopes of grounding yourself.
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, ... ... ...
It is dark. It has been dark for quite a while, and your eyes are drawn to the faint lines of light that emerge from the cracks surrounding the trapdoor. They swim in front of your vision, turning into a flickering lattice like thin bright wires netting you in.
Your hands are still painfully swollen from the ropes. The pain, however, is not all that commands your attention. After so long alone, every sound seems amplified; you can hear water rushing through pipes in the wall, you can hear the building itself creaking. It's too loud. You think you hear people talking upstairs, but the words make no sense, and if you cannot trust your own senses, if you cannot trust your own mind, then what is left?
The room is shrinking, closing in on you. Eventually, its volume will be small enough that it will crush you altogether. You wish for her to come back, you want to see a light, a face, because anything is better than this endless stretch of empty darkness.
But you have been abandoned. You are utterly convinced of this now. The lattice, the light, the feelings of ropes against your skin, you reach for something to sense, to grasp onto, but she is gone and you are helpless.
You know that a man can live three days without water. You are not dead yet, unless the afterlife is being trapped in Ella Tracy's basement for all eternity. But your throat is parched and your breaths are raspy, and if she does not return for you - if she has forgotten in her madness that humans must be fed and watered - then you will die her, and no one will know that you are gone.
You must escape. Even if she comes back now, even if she ties the ropes even tighter like after your first escape attempt, you cannot sit by and let yourself quietly die. But you must first steady your brain, and think.
Your voice sounds foreign to you; it shakes as you begin counting numbers quietly in hopes of grounding yourself.
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, ... ... ...
