Pit.

Drip, drip, drip.

I sat at the bottom of a dark circular pit, surrounded by concrete walls. Drops of water fell into the same exact spot, making a soft noise, which was starting to drive me insane. I have been here for two days now. My eyes adjusted to darkness enough to see the walls, once a day a black box was lowered on a string, inside was a cup of water and a piece of bread.

Drip, drip, drip.

I clenched my teeth with anger, scratched my neck in frustration. I tried sitting in the spot so the drops fell on my head and back, but after an hour that started feeling worse than the sound before. I put my shirt folded on the ground and it suppressed the sound for hours, but then I started to feel cold, the shirt was wet and the sound intensified. I moved the shirt, but couldn’t put it on. I wondered how long it would take for it to dry in this cold pit hole.

Drip, drip, drip.

On the fourth day a terrible scream came from up above and then a body fell on the ground in front of me, it was a man, his blood began to spread around the floor of the pit and I tried to sit against the wall as I felt it touch my heel, but I couldn’t get away from it, the space was too narrow. I stood against the wall, but it still reached me and soaked my feet. I cried in my desperation and confusion as to what I could have done to deserve such a punishment.

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound of the water drops intensified again as they fell into the blood. I was sitting now, in the blood of that man, I tried to separate my mind from this place for I could feel my sanity slipping. After many hours the stench from the dead body and the blood hit my senses and I felt sick, this is also when they lowered my box of food for me.

Drip, drip, drip.

The fifth day came, or perhaps not, I only counted days based on each time they lowered the box, but maybe the intervals were longer. I sat staring at one spot not moving a muscle. I no longer desired to live, or to fight my state of mind. I refused to take the food out of the box as it hung in front of my face for a while. Eventually they pulled it back up.

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound of the drops has become deeply imprinted inside my mind, fully becoming part of my thoughts and nightmares. By the time they lowered the box next time my thirst was immense and I drank, my stomach was sucking itself in and I ate the bread. I suppose this was the sixth day.

Drip, drip, drip.

On the seventh day I heard something move near me, a small opening in the bottom of the wall appeared, from it something crawled out, I could hear it slithering over the rotting dead body. One after another the snakes crawled out of the opening. There was at least a dozen of them. Long, slimy, several wrapped themselves around my legs. I suppose my horror would have been far more intense, but my mind was too damaged at this point and I didn’t even scream.

Drip, drip, drip.

On day eight no box came but instead men came down on a rope, they were telling me something, but I could not comprehend, all I could hear was the dripping of the water.

I was rescued and taken to a place called Parkhorst Asylum. There, time to time I understood that a doctor named Albion was speaking to me, but most of the time I could just hear the drops of the water and still see the darkness of the pit around me.

A man who looked familiar came to visit me, perhaps my father, his mouth was moving as he sat with me, I nodded, but I did not hear a thing.

Drip, drip, drip.