I've counted every brick inside this cell. Six hundred and twenty-seven, including those on the ceiling. And every one of them is slimy, cold black stone. Dark and miserable like this place. My ribs wake me from blackness, the pain soaring through my back and into my chest with every breath and movement. The same pain that wakes me, sends me back to oblivion. The only kindness I expect from my life in this place. The place where I'm convinced I will be for the rest of my life, however long that may be.
I have watched the small space illuminate from the small window at the top of the back wall, then watched it be swallowed by darkness as night fell. I have studied that window, maybe eight feet up but only one square foot in size with bars running from top to bottom. No chance of escape. I
