The Descent
July 5th The air in here is thick. Not just the usual stuff, but something else. A cloying sweetness, almost sickly. It clings to the walls, seeping into my skin. I try to ignore it, focus on the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the steady drip-drip-drip of water from the faucet. But it's no use. The sweetness is everywhere, a constant, insidious presence. I haven't seen the sun in… I don't know, days? Weeks? Time loses all meaning in this place. The shadows stretch and writhe, dancing across the cracked plaster. They seem to whisper, to mock me. "You're losing it," they hiss. "You're losing it." I try to remember things. My wife's face, the color of the sky at dawn, the taste of my favorite coffee. But the memories are slipping away, like grains of sand through my fingers. They become fragmented, distorted, replaced by… what? By the sweetness, by the whispers, by the ever-present dread. July 10th The dripping has stopped. Silence. Absolute, su...