Drip. Drip. Drip. Tiny droplets, random intervals, twentyfour hours of whatever passes for days here. I gave up counting time long ago. The incessant dripping, the solitude, the blackness, it’s no mistake. Everything is designed to slowly numb my brain, steal my identity, wear away at everything that remains of me until I am nothing more than a vessel for this agony. I’m losing myself. I no longer remember my parents, I don’t know I ever had any. And I struggle, every passing minute to remember my own name. I suppose it won’t matter, in the end. Whatever’s left of what was once my life will be spent here, in this ten foot square cube of solid stone and solitude. I sit, I cry, I scream the pain of a human denied the one thing more precious than air. With every drop of water that runs down the mildewed stone wall, I feel another memory fade. Drip. Drip. Drip.