A/N: This was an extra credit project for English. We had to describe a room using 500 words. Well, I figured I'd write about a prison. And it ironically has to due with the Palace of Justice (PoJ... which can also stand for Peanuts or Jelly). This is going to be a oneshot, but I may have a short thing after this just to say what grade I got on it. It's counted for 25 test points. Wish me luck!
The Underground Prison
By Opaque Opal
Crumbling stones steps led to a cellar-like hallway underground. The stench of rotting flesh and blood fills the nostrils of anyone who dares to enter. Cobwebs hang like delicate veils from the termite-infested rafters. If one was to place his hand upon the wall, they would find it fuzzy. That's because mold grew; and it could easily shut down the entire respiratory system if inhaled. Empty torch brackets were mounted the complete length of the passageway. A little farther along, one would be able to make out prison cells in the dark. The rusty bars had seen better days; for they could open easily without a set of keys. The cell's interior was a sorry sight. A meager wooden bowl sits in corner overturned. Rats the size of small dogs scurry about, foraging for what little food they can find. Manacled to the wall is a cracked skeleton. Whether the cause of death was starvation or the inability to live, no one will know. A white smock, frayed from age, barely covers the rib bones. The skeleton's mouth lies open as if in disbelief. Looking closely into the sunken eye sockets, one can make out a large spider; nesting in the skull. The cell is so cramped that three grown men can barely fit. Walking down the rest of the passageway, one can see identical cells built into the walls. Yet if one has the desire to venture into the darkness further, they'd come to another door. Behind it would be a stone circular room. In it are various weapons of torture. Whips are stored similar to billiard sticks. Dried crimson blood stains the flagstone floor. An Iron Maiden stands formidably against the wall. Beside it is a small, black thumbscrew. The vise can slowly crush the fingers on a convict's hand until the torturer was satisfied. Blood in the room could not only be seen, but smelt. The salty red liquid was enough to concoct brutal images of suffering. If one listened closely, they could hear the faint screams of tortured prisoners who deceased long ago. Sadly, these prisoners were tortured for inconsequential crimes and spite. Air circulation was poor, and one could quickly die from asyphyxia in the room. Iron torch brackets were mounted on the wall. But like the ones in the passageway, they lacked the actual torches. Looking closely at the wall, one could make out innumerable tally marks that look analogous to blood. Their purpose is unknown. Yet one might assume that they were used to keep track of prisoners tortured and killed. Leaving the "torture room" leads right back into the passageway. While most of the cells are empty, several hold actual prisoners. Their gaunt faces are quite similar to the skeletons in their company. Skin is stretched tightly across their bodies, making every bone visible. Their eyes have adulterated in color, resembling a cloudy sky. If someone were to acknowledge them, they wouldn't move. Being cooped up for so long drains hope out of the body like a leech on an animal. Upon leaving the prison, one feels reborn again. The fresh air replaces the dank air one has been accustomed to. The reek of blood is supplanted by the aroma of baked bread from a bakery across the way. And once this has happened, one will never want to set foot into the underground prison again.