The walls smelled like peppermint tea and dates. It would have been almost pleasant, if not for the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh permeating from the wooden floor below. Droplets of dark red blood were spattered in a mad array of quick gushes. So dark in fact, was the blood, one might mistake it for black tar.
My face remained plastered against the old floral wallpaper, ripped and decaying in many areas. The old scent of peppermint and dates was fading fast. My hands were firmly clasped behind my back. An old, itchy rope tied them together in an unnatural position. The throbbing in my fingers was surely caused by the build-up of blood, blocked by the tight restriction of my vulnerable wrists.
The small room, hexagonal in shape, was dark with only slight rays of moonlight escaping through the boarded up windows. It broke through like laser beams, highlighting small particles of dust. They danced around wildly and slowly like tiny stars riding along invisible waves. There was a meditative beauty about it, as though I too could ride the glittery waves to safety.
The force that pinned me to the wall was invisible. Invisible and strong. So strong in fact, my breath was swiftly leaving me. The pressure against my chest was agonizing. I could feel my ribs slowly cracking as though this cruel entity intended to break them in slow motion.
Perhaps the cruellest thing of all was my desire to scream. It was a gift not even god himself could grant me. Not a whimper was able to escape my throat. Oh how I desired to cry out. A small gift it would be indeed.
All I can do is pray for my end to arrive quickly. My eyes dart downwards, glimpsing the bruised and bloody hand at my feet. It was as though he had tried to reach me. One last touch before the end.