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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1791682-White-Noise
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1791682
A short short story of a man fractured.
Drip.

A man lies in a cell. He is alone. His face is unmoving and his eyes are unblinking. For appearance's sake he is dead, if not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, breaths so deep and slow you would think him sleeping. Above him, a small drop of water hangs, suspended, slowly sagging downward until it is separated from its host.

Drip.

He screams. He screams until his throat is hoarse with feral rage and used raw, he yanks at his chains, wrists and ankles bound to the floor, and the clank of his shackles only fuels his hate. He twists and turns, his wrists bloody, and an audible crack bounces around his surroundings, but he ignores the sound, ignores the pain, ignores the small little white glib now jutting out of his left wrist, he ignored it all, just give him the bastards who did this to him, just give him those cock suckers, they would pay, dear god he would make them scream an-

Drip.

He moans. Plagued with a constant and uncontrolble shuttering, shaking his head back and forth, he is terrified, haunted, he does not know where he is or how he got here, he does not feel the warm sensation run down his inner thigh, damping his pants, he is a child in the dark, the sinner who sees the grim reapers face, the driver who watches as the semi in the next lane swerves into his, why is here, why, why, why, please just let him go, he won’t tell anyone what happened, honest he will jus-

Drip.

He sobs, tears run unabashed and unfettered down his face, snot mixes with the tears and bubbles with air, running down the sides of his face and around his mouth, there is no hope, there is no tomorrow, there is no chance for survival, his face becomes completely wet as his tears mix with the water from above, death is on its way and he is just waiting, the inevi-

Drip.

A man lies in a cell. He is alone. His face is unmoving and his eyes are unblinking. For appearance's sake he is dead, if not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, breathes so deep and so slow you would think him sleeping. Above him, a small drop of water hangs, suspended, slowly sagging downward until it is separated from its host.

Drip.
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