Drip. 309 Drip. 310 Dr-"When will it stop?" I shrieked, knowing that no answer would come out of the darkness for me. No reply but the jeers and snickers that I knew existed only in my mind. The only sounds that reverberated in this hell I call home are those of the water creeping through the ceiling, and those of my own body. I swear that in this solitude, my beating heart echoes louder than the whisper of my hoarse, fading voice ever could. Sometimes, I feel the quick steps of my savior coming to this dreary cell, but I have long given up o n this dream. It has been weeks since the jail-keeper last came to see that I was alive, grudgingly bringing a meal once a day. But now, ever he does not come for me, and if not for the water hoarded in a discarded, forgotten pail, I am sure that I would be one by the spirits by now. Shivering, I gathered the rages that were left of my clothes to my body as a pitiful attempt to get warm. They had kept me in this prison for far too long. What was once a well-rounded face was now a mockery of a skull, with pale skin that stretched over jutting cheekbones and dull, lifeless eyes. Where my feet my with my legs, the bones stuck out even harsher, making it painful to stand, limiting to the pathetic excuse of a bed. It was naught but a mattress raised on crumbling cinderblocks. Why was it that I was imprisoned in this room? It has been months, soon to be a year that I have been locked up in here, hidden away from the nurturing rays of the sun, and I myself am beginning to forget what it is they accuse me of. Yet I will never forget, for it is far too heinous of a crime for any one person to commit. Even if I had committed such crimes, I would never forget. Every day Orson, the jail-keeper came with the name of a new victim. But I will never forget the last name he called before he disappeared, for it was yours, my love. Are you surprised? Do you truly believe that I would talk to myself? This cell may damper my will to live, but it will never lessen the love I feel for you with the disease of insanity. Some would say that I'm crazy, pretending I am intimating with a person who is not only in my mind, but in the ground. But you would understand that I am saner than most, that on the contrary, this is what keeps me sane. No longer am I safe within the confines of my own brain. Why do you think little children have imaginary friends? They outsmart us all, because they know that to be alone with oneself for extended amounts of time is equal to suicide. The mass murder, almost equal to that of a genocide was upwards of a thousand people. Of course, they could not accuse me of slaying all those people myself, it is deemed 'impossible.' They called me the ring-leader, the mastermind, the secret-keeper. Of course they were frustrated when after days of strenuous torture I still could tell them nothing, could not inform them of my accomplices. Logic would make it that I was telling the truth, that I knew nothing. Yet the citizens were in such fright over the killings, they wanted the culprit found and put away. I guess that by putting me away to rot, it appeased the people of the city. After all, to them I was nothing but the child deserted at the city gates, without a name, without a family to take care of me, the burden that was fostered onto the whole of the people to feed and clothe and defend. One would think that growing up to become the city's foster parent, bringing in tourists and sight-seers who virtually paid the salaries of 90 percent of the people would lessen the hatred. For a while it had, but it seems as if hatred is an emotion that runs deep, that is hard to forget, but easy to remember. But there is something suspicious going on here. For example, the fact that all the murders supposedly took place within a two-mile radius, yet no one ever saw anything happen. And I am sure that if the police dug up the graves of the victims, they would find themselves hollow coffins, and victims of a farce played out by the best of magicians. These killings were all planned as a cover-up for something much bigger. I await the day for it to be revealed, for it will be the day I wreak my revenge on this city. The dripping has stopped, how strange. In the time that I have spent in this cell, the dripping had never stopped, had never intensified, never lessened. Now there is a strange sound, getting louder and louder as each new moment passes. This noise seems familiar, yet it has been so long since the darkness has been pierced that it takes me a while to piece together the puzzle. Footsteps! Those are footsteps! A small glimmer of light glances upon the floor in front of my cell. As the steps come nearer, the light becomes brighter, until it eventually fills my cell and temporarily blinds me with its splendor. I look up from my bed, wobbling towards the door, even though my legs are ready to give out any moment. The door is opened before I can reach it, and I am gathered up in strong arms. I look into the face of my savior, and began the first conversation of what would be the rest of my life. " I knew you could hear me. "