There were eyes everywhere. In the grey stoned walls that surrounded him. In the mud covered ground beneath him. And in his head where he held his desires closely. They watched.
He felt a breeze of the warm stuffy wind. The air caused his skin to feel sticky and warm. He listened closely to the silence and it felt as though the wind could speak and breathe.
He shifted his position to look at the moss covered walls, hoping to understand where he was, however in this room there was no door; only those walls, the muddy ground, a dirty ceiling with grid lights barred with steal, and a puddle of blood in the center of the room.
A stiffy sweet scent irritated his throat and made him cough.
He flinched as the echo of his cough jumped as a hollow laughter through the room; and he knew that every sound he made, every breath he took would be imitated by the silence and emptyness of the wind.
And as he was forced to cough once more he noticed that his breath tasted sweet –...