Trapped in his own mind, he struggled to find a way out. Every side had a wall of bricks. He had screamed, shouted and pounded on those walls until his hands bled, his throat was raw and his ears were ringing. He sat alone, defeated, waiting for someone to give him a hand up and just free him from the prison he found himself in. His head was pounding and the life had drained from every part of his body.
Darkness encapsulated him, though it did not enter him. There was still his dignity. What did that matter? Why hold yourself to social order when there was no-one there to govern. This prison was anything he imagined it to be and yet, he sat motionless in the middle. Slumped, with his head down. Like he was grieving the death of a thousand souls, somehow feeling responsible.
The only soul that had died was his, yet he refused to see himself in his defeated state. He'd rather blame everything for it. Drive himself to the edge of sanity. He needed to let go. To release all his hurt and his despair, his shame and guilt. He needed to lose control. It was the one thing he was afraid to do that was going to cure him.
The music began to play. The low tones of the cello danced morbidly across the room like a great tragedy had befallen existence. Sleep was a distance memory and rational thinking had left him at the altar. He dreamed of all the vices he had partaken of and the ones that had still yet to pleasure him.
His head lifted at the memory of the past and the conflict it caused within.
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