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FF 1
FF 1
The endless bricks encompassing solitary confinement relentlessly oozed a puce liquid with the
consistency of store-bought jam. On a bad day, the walls seemed to be adamantly closing in,
minute-by-minute, like the narrowing of a rabbit hole into hopelessness. Devouring the last
breath of what he considered to be fresh air, the guard began his descent into the abyss to be
greeted by the inevitable stench of sweat and despair, as well as the familiar white noise of
prisoners muttering to no one in particular. Bypassing the other cages without a sparing glance,
the guard approached the last cell on the left with the trigger of the wardens missing gun pressed
halfway to death.
was greeted with the tangible stench of sweat and despair as well as the familiar static of
prisoners muttering forever amplified with each step, descending into the abyss.
Something within the air had the guards on edge on this supposed humdrum Tuesday in solitary
confinement. The rusted iron shackles bit into the hands of the prisoner like 1,000 tiny knife jabs.