It’s dark. I know it’s dark, but I can no longer see that it’s dark, if that makes any sense. I try to push against whatever is holding me here, because I know with utmost certainty that I am being held.

When I first realised my confinement, I clawed at the unknown walls of my prison in mounting desperation, until the fight in me slowly died, surging in defiance with decreasing regularity and sinking to an inevitable, cowardly defeat.

I no longer feel cold though, which is, I suppose, a blessing...