• the_novel_idealist

4 December 2020 - 15 Minute Fiction Friday

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Sitting there in the dull damp darkness, I will never forget that low, monotonous ticking.

Chained like a caged beast to the sponged stone surrounds, wasting away on the little food I could fend for myself, that tick seemed the only morbid reminder of life, as it seemed to count down the remainder of mine.

Hours, days, perhaps more had passed; I had all but given up any dim hopes of escape, all but given up any veiled hopes of feeling the air outside again.

With a whir of activity, my gamble paid off. It had life.