Cold; so cold it cuts through the rags that were once clothes...

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Cold; so cold it cuts through the rags that were once clothes, straight to the bone.
There was a time this cold so occupied your very being you could concentrate on nothing else. But that was long ago.
Darkness; so dark it sometimes seems more than the mere absence of light; it seems almost tangible. You vaguely recall a time when you were obsessed with determining exactly where you were, pacing in the darkness to examine your environs. You figured out you were in some sort of a concrete cell, perhaps six feet square, but not much more than that. You used to wonder what color the walls were, never having been allowed to see them, but that curiosity has long ago been replaced with more basic needs.
Something scurries across the stone floor, running across your bare foot. There was a time your screams would then echo into the darkness, but you no longer have the energy to even react.
You don’t know what time it is, you don’t know what day it is; you’re not even sure what year it is. You used to try to figure out what season it was, and whether the cold damp on the walls and in the air was an indication of winter, but it seems to be cold here year round. And even if you could figure out what season it was, or even what year; what difference would that make?
Does anyone know you are here? Does anyone still care? Could today be your birthday? Is anyone still thinking of you? Do they remember you? Do they even care?
A sudden noise: the sound of metal on concrete, as a tray with some undistinguishable food substance slides through a slot in the cell door. You never figured out how they do that without making a sound, or letting in any light. You used to call out, screaming into the darkness, hoping for any response, any human voice… Do the guards wear padded shoes? And is your cell within a cell that prevents any light from entering with the opening of the grate in the door?
Sudden panic; what if you are blind? What if they blinded you only it was so long ago, you just don’t remember? What if you are mad? The panic begins to rise, threatening to overwhelm you, and not for the first or even the thousandth time, you manage to get a grip, and hang on. But for how long? And to what end?

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