Steel toed boots, a splintered trucheon, a rusty assault rifle, heavy fists, and sharp, cold eyes that showed no mercy. These were my enemies now. I took stock of each one, each element, and pictured them in my mind; focused on them with every fiber of my being. Those enemies, those obstacles, were absolutely the only things that had any meaning in my life at that moment.

I had observed the ritual countless times- the door would creak open, a bowl of "food" more resembling pig slop would be shoved in, scraping across the floor. No silverware, no tray, no talking. It ususally took 3 or 4 seconds, 6 at most. I always sat at the opposite end of the cell, as far away from the door as I could get, lest the guard be in a bad mood and choose to take it out on me. But this time I crouched as close to the door as I could.

The creak of the door was deafening- cutting through the stagnant silence like a knife. If everything didn't go exactly as planned, it would be nearly the last thing I would ever hear.

It all happened in an instant- as soon as i heard the scrape of the bowl as he shoved it into the cell with his boot, I sprung up and shot my hand my hand into the crack of the door. the guard looked up in shock, and his widened eyes met mine for a moment frozen in time for us both. As soon as he registered what was happening, he reflexively pulled on the metal loop of the door handle that was still in his grip. The heavy iron door, only open a few inches by then, came down surprisingly hard onto my fingers. A sickening crunch of breaking bones, a cry that it took me a moment to realize came from my own lips. It didn't matter. Only the boots, the rifle, the eyes- Those were the only things that existed. The door bounced just enough off of my now-mangled fingers for me to slide my palm onto the outside of the door. Stiffening my arm and flinging my body weight toward the inside of the cell, the door opened enough for me to fit. The guard gripped his rifle but it was too late. A swift elbow to the head, followed by a kick to the side of the knee lowered him half way to the ground. A knee to the face brought the second sickening crunch as blood poured out of his nose. He was floored.

With the threat of the guard temporarily gone, I registered my surroundings for the first time.

Sleep doesn't find me as easily as it did before. Perhaps it has stopped looking?

My weight shifts naturally, in spite of my efforts to remain still. My breathing is metered and shallow. I can feel my hands start to ache, the first sign that the oxygen is slowly giving way to dioxides, but in the dark, silence is the only thing that doesn't betray you.

A click in the distance. I'm not sure where, as the sound echos off uneven surfaces, arriving as a sharp, disorienting chorus. Now the familiar chalky grind, like a brick dragging across a concrete floor. An old cylinder is turning, emitting small pops as the rust sticks, then gives way. Soon light will start to creep in, stretching in a triangle towards me, piercing the darkness.

My breathing has stopped. I consider for how long and I realize that I don't know. My lungs are full of stale air, my eyes throbbing, and my hands... My hands are shaking. This isn't from pain.

It's anticipation.

A feel a bead of sweat forming along the right side of my nose. The cold air bites at the moisture. So close now.

The drop starts to slowly slide towards my jaw as the the door emits a boom, rolling open on old, noisy hinges. I can smell it now; the stench. The familiar, repulsive stench of this place, this crucible, this insanity. A smile cracks my lips as I consider whether I can ever escape that smell, ever really leave it behind. Will I think of it whenever I see the light?

The bead of sweat finds the corner of my mouth and the salty sting snaps me back to the task at hand. I'm crouching, have been crouching, fearful that any movement could be heard, somehow seen, somehow prepared for.

My hands form into fists and my muscles groan with anticipation.

Today I will see the light or I will merge with the infinite darkness.