With arms straining to remain joined to his shoulders, Brik dangled haphazardly from an alarming height. Despite his lack of sight, Brik could tell that his surroundings were profoundly dank and grotesque. The smell was enough to give it away. It was nauseating. The rancid odor of corpses wafted in his nostrils, assaulting his senses harshly. He gagged bile and acid burning his uvula before he swallowed it all back down. He was panting, chest rising and falling as pure unadulterated fear traveled through his veins at the speed of light. He wasn’t sure what to expect at the moment. Was he about to be tortured? Murdered? Molested? He didn’t know. Warm liquid crawled down the length of his forearm and he was pretty sure it was blood…his blood from his raw wrists. Due to his constant struggle, Brik had succeeded in rubbing his flesh to the point of tearing. A stream of blood was now steadily falling to the ground, creating a puddle of essence underneath him.
A low strangled grunt rumbled through his chest almost resembling a roar as he struggled relentlessly. He tried to ignore the stabbing agony of rope rubbing against raw flesh, the acidic inferno that was clawing at his throat, the vile aroma of rot and decay. He had one mission—stay alive. Holding his breath, Brik shimmied, swung, and pulled, loud grunts and cries of pain echoing throughout the space until his right hand finally snapped the rope. He was left dangling from only his left wrist. He cried out blindly as his shoulder dislocated.
“Fuck!” Hot tears were filling his covered eyes as he clenched his teeth. This was going to hurt and he knew it. Brik used his weight, kicking his legs and swinging until the rope gave way. Then he was in free-fall, air rushing past him before he landed on his bed shoulder.
“FUCKING SHIT!” He screamed upon landing. He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily, coughing up bile. He laid there groaning in pain before finally building up the will to get up. Shifting onto his stomach, Brik looked up, eyes searching for an exit. He spotted a hole in the wall. Desperate, he took the chance, limping over to the portal and trying in vain not to collapse. He could have sworn he bruised his ribs. He walked into the hole only to plummet down into the space. Darkness devoured him and a scream of terror ranged throughout the air. The violent scent of rot relentlessly attacked him, and then before he knew it, he was on his back. His landing was less painful than he expected. He slowly turned; realizing that underneath him was a pool of blood, bone, and decaying flesh. Brik was in a river of death. Blood and guts surrounded him, coating his skin and Brik couldn’t do it, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He vomited.