Solitary (Day 12)

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

This was the forty-third day; he was almost certain of that. He hated to second-guess his internal tally, since he had nothing to check it against, and little else to hold onto. If he started doubting the simple facts of his horribly-constricted world, hanging onto the shreds of hope — and sanity — that remained to him would be difficult indeed.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He wondered, as he did every day, who was doing the tapping. He assumed it was one of the others, but not even knowing which of the others were here, who had survived the crash, who had evaded capture in the madness that followed, it was yet another of the many fruitless but absorbing mental problems that he clung to, trying to find distraction from his endless and excruciating confinement.

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