Being Captured by Pitch Black would include . . .
Tags: Mentions of biting, delusions, being in nightmare jail, ghosts, sanity
Author's Note: BOO! Writers block.
Deep in the caves of the Pitch’s lair you sat in your cage cold and miserable. Afraid of the dark that consumed everything outside your cell, stone and flesh alike. As a child, you were scared of the dark. Always afraid that something was there to get you, just like any other kid. You just never grew out of it and for good reason.Â
Pitch’s eerily laughter echoed and rang in your ears as you cried. Hot tears trailing down your dirty face as you clamped your hands over your ears.Â
It never stopped.Â
Things with glowing eyes would taunt you and scrape their claws over the metal bars. The smaller shadows wiggling their way through the bars and biting your feet like ants slighted. Refused crumbs from the picnic table.Â
Even the shadowy dust filled horses and their skeletal shapes helped to grow a fear in you that had you trembling. At first you hadn’t minded them. After all, they sounded and looked like horses.Â
That was your second mistake.Â
Somehow they were the worst of them all. From the biting on your bare feet, the tickling of the hairs on your arms, the nails on metal, the horses loved to reach their heads through the bars and bite your legs and arms, even your back. It hurt.
Everything hurt. You were in constant pain and hunger.
The noises and laughter ran through your ears. The ghosts that mocked you reminded you of your parents. The shadows gnawed at your skin til it was raw, leaving you in the middle of the cage, dangling over the top of pointed rock formations. You screamed until your voice gave out.Â
You couldn’t tell what was real.Â
If you were real.Â
Alive.Â
Escape had been an idea that toyed with you in the beginning, bringing hope along with it. Later crushing you under the weight of the knowledge that you would die here.Â
And what sanity you had left intact well—Â
What was the point in keeping it?
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