24
My throat became raw as I screamed, as the walls closed around me, the darkness brushed its long, cold fingers down my spine and closed its claws around my neck. Without air, the scream died out, but the panic flared up. I punched the walls, clawed at them, through the solid earth. I kicked at the low ceiling, I searched for cracks or hinges on the doors—nothing.
I was in that tiny, dark closet all over again.
The echoes of past screams and fighting and begging filled my ears. I fell to the ground, my hands clamped over my ears. I couldn’t do this; I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t do this.
This agony, this fear, this despair.
Hours or days or years later, the door opened with a groan and light streamed in. I placed a hand over my eyes, trying to get used to it. Hands clamped around
