Flecked with spit, on the cold floor he lay. Shivering and convulsing, he strains himself. Digits numbed, yet still scrabbling. His icy cage.
Time seems to slow. Every minute passes slower than the past. His breath frosting on his lips, it cracks but does not bleed.
Screams and shrieks they seem to fade. Shallow breathing at his pace. In the pitch black darkness, pretending to pray; for the Lord he knows, but would not go away.
Erratic Behaviour
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