The Dungeon of his mind

The atmosphere was one of extreme suspense. Flies swarmed in large groups, buzzing their hypnotic tune and causing a feeling of deep emotional paranoia in the heart of the man sitting on the dilapidated bed in the center. The metal frames of said bed were rusted, the bottom half of the mattress curving in a defeated concave, its undersides hitting the filthy floor. Springs haphazardly stuffed into place poked him under his abused backside. Those jailers of his were animals, veritable beasts walking in human skins.

A container full of dark water sat to one side, a stench so despicable as to curl his nostrils rose in almost visible tendrils from it. He dare not approach the water, too afraid of the possibility that creatures of the night, fantasy ghouls resided within. An odd clanking rang ever so often on the wall facing him. He didn't know the time between clanks. The lack of any natural lighting had dulled his senses to the point where even his internal body clock could no longer tell whether it was night or day.

An old, dust covered yellow bulb stood as solitary sentry against the darkness all around. When he'd been dragged into the room, the bed had been pushed to a dark corner. As soon as claustrophobia hit, he'd pulled that offending piece of furniture smack dab in the middle of the room, right underneath the precious little light. He'd scraped his hands in the process, shallow gashes oozing bright, cherry red blood. He looked down at his callused hands, the bright red having long turned into a maroon. With an unconcerned shrug he studied the two fingers on his left hand that no longer had nails.

Amused chattering drew his gaze to a darkened corner where his new best friend stared back with glowing eyes. Whiskers moved, more chattering and then Maurice the mouse moved into the light. He greeted the mouse with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Lost not was the obvious reference to Tom Hanks and that ball from 'Castaway'.

He shrugged. He was a social animal, and nobody said animals couldn't talk to one another.

So he carried on a one sided conversation with a mouse.

On the other side of the glass case, a family of three studied the man in wistful pain. The woman watched as a debilitating disease stole more and more of her husband away from her. The children watched as their father spoke to himself, while strapped to a hospital bed.