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.