The Hole

How the hell did I end up in this dungeon? Am I ever gonna get out of here? I wonder if my family even knows where I am. I don’t know how long my sanity will last in this place. I don’t even speak the language; I never know what I’m being told, by either guards or other prisoners. The walls in my cell are all dingy looking, an off white from years of prisoners lighting their very few belongings on fire to fight off the freeze. There are so many etchings on the walls, dates and names, signs of boredom and despair. I can’t read most of them, only some names and a couple of the dates, everything else is in Russian or Ukrainian or something foreign to me. The constant frost outside this time of year makes my area moist as it is usually a few degrees warmer in here, because of the body heat from the prisoners constantly moving trying to keep from freezing. It causes the whole place to smell very pungent like sweat and mold, I am getting used to it after eight months. The only time it smells relatively fresh is just after a rain, but it doesn’t really help for long as the humidity levels go up causing us all to sweat more. And with only one set of clothes it gets bad pretty quickly.
The guards are brutal, especially to me since I barely understand a word they say and no one will help me learn, as they seem to get a rise out of watching me get my ass kicked. Every time I hear the clanking of keys I push myself into the farthest corner of my cell and face the wall as to avoid any unnecessary contact with them. They all seem to have very serious expressions, I have never seen a guard smile and they look especially sinister since they went from wearing military style uniforms to all black combat gear. When the unfortunate event of a fight breaks out, it is an easy excuse for the guards to physically punish all of us. We are lined up and methodically beaten on the bottoms of our feet. This type of torture is hellacious, as it not only induces fear but also slows your work down which will also get you beaten. I need to get out of here.
I hate when the lights go out for the evening. The darkness is where fear begins to play tricks on my fatigued mind. I hear footsteps down the corridor, but am afraid to look, as it may be the guards testing us to see who is curios enough to get a beating or is it? I never hear the clinking of keys, but I hear distant screams of torture at times. I feel bugs and rodents crawling on me searching for food or blood or both and all I can do is brush them away without creating too much noise giving the guards reason to come. Sometimes the rats begin to gnaw on my flesh where my blisters have turn into festering wounds. God! Get me out of here! The silence is driving me crazy. I’m crazy. I’m going crazy. I think I’m crazy.