I don’t know how long I’ve been here, walking this endless labyrinth of concrete blandness. I remember a time before this place, but I don’t know how long ago that was. It could be hours, days, weeks, months, even years. There’s no way of really knowing. Time is funny here. It slips through your fingers like water. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow.
Not even the sweet release of death can free me from this God forsaken place. The last memory I have from the time before I came here is of the day I died. I fear I’m stuck here forever.
Written for Friday Fictioneers.
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