For a good portion of my life I believed that the sinners were dammed to hell while the innocent were spared. How deluded was I. Accused of a crime I didn't commit I now reside in the tenth level of hell, an innocent awaiting a fate that makes death the ultimate release. I am so very afraid. I fear my words have lost all credibility, I fear that there is no escape, but most of all I fear him and what he will do to me. I have heard the tortured screams and whispers of the other patients. I know that just beyond the door to my cell lies a chamber of suffering. And I know that my time is coming...
Miranda woke suddenly form her restless sleep, her bitter sweet dreams fading fast as horrid reality hit her once more. She rolled over and grimaced, her sheets and cloths were soaked with sweat and the cold air clung to every bit of her exposed skin. She sat up and took a deep breath of stale air before pulling her knees to her chest in a desperate attempt to keep warm. The dark cramped cell which she had called home for the last few days was devoid of any heating. The only source of light was a small round glass window that looked out into the corridor beyond and all that produced was a pathetic shaft of light. Not that Miranda minded the dark. Over the past few days she had come to view the darkness and solitude as a blessing rather than a curse. As ridiculous and childish as it may seem, she had convinced herself that it concealed her from the horror that lay outside. Yes, as long as she stayed in the darkness she couldn't be seen.
Miranda rubbed her temples in an attempt to ease the constant throbbing in her head. The violent migraines had plagued her from the moment she had awoken in her cell scared, disorientated and alone. A soft sob escaped her throat as her mind churned and frothed like an ocean in the grip of a tempest. Fragmented memories bloomed and then disappeared before she could make any sense of them. The only memory that remained painfully sharp was that of the voices. The horrific sounds of terror and rage; screaming, shouting terrified voices that surrounded and overwhelmed her. And there was the blood too. That blasted sticky crimson liquid that dripped from her fingers and soaked her cloths. Every where she looked there was nothing but blood and carnage. Fear and rage gripped her feeding off one another until all thought became a dull thrum at the back of her mind. Miranda gave a soft groan and threw her head against the hard pillow, desperately trying to piece together the puzzle that was her mind.
Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps approaching reached her ears. She fixed her panic stricken attention on the wall listening intently to the growing activities beyond her cell. Her mind consumed by only one thought, Oh god they are coming for me. Trembling violently she scampered off the bed and pressed herself into the corner where, half stiff with terror she waited. Fear stifled her breathing as the footsteps grew nearer to her cell. She closed her eyes; her heart beat so violent that it was almost suffocating; her rags damp with the cold sweat of agony; she lay motionless by the wall, her mouth wide open, under the single ray of light, praying. The footsteps rose before gradually dissipating to a soft thump. "Oh Christ" She gasped in rugged breaths. Swallowing the lump which had formed in her throat, she threw back her head and closed her eyes tightly. Waiting for death was painful, but in here death itself was a fate you would not wish upon any man. A high pitched scream caused Miranda to once again sit bolt upright, the good doctor had undoubtedly chosen his latest victim. A mans screams and pleas resonated throughout the corridors of the elaborate maze as he was no doubt forcefully removed from his cell. "No please I can feel it I swear!"
"I said shut up."
"I am much better now. I-I don't need any more..."
A sickening thwack silenced the terrified man before he could finish his sentence. From the corner of her cell Miranda listened as an unconscious body was dragged passed, a soft moan trailing along with it. As the troop passed through the corridor the sound of softly quarreling voices wormed their way into her cell. "I just think it's cruel," a male voice spoke up. Intrigued by the conversation and the thought of someone sympathetic to her plight, Miranda softly slid from her corner and crept towards the door. "Its not as if they don't suffer enough as it is, you know, with out us beating them. I mean..."
"Suffering, Pete, is what the families of his victims went through when they found their loved ones in pieces!" The tall man's outburst was met by silence. Pete, whoever he was, apparently didn't feel like arguing. "And besides," the tall man continued, "this ones off down to the operating theatre. The way I see it I am doing the bastard a favor." A series of tortuous images flashed through Miranda's head making her shudder. Again the footsteps began to fade in the other direction, but not before Pete, who still stood outside her cell muttered a barely audible reply. It was a reply that shot a feeling of warmth and hope through her core.
"It's just not right."
