200 F.Y.
⬛⬛⬛
I opened my eyes to day number.... I don't know... eighty? a hundred and five?
Hmm... Yeah... Probably the latter...
Okay. Day number a hundred and five since I was put in this prison. It was kind of daunting to think about that number. Like, holy shvt. It's been well over three months ever since I tasted the air of freedom? Even my time at the Furnace wasn't as long as this one.
"Wake up."
Heeding my alarm, my stomach grumbled as I got a whiff of the once-in-a-blue-moon ration being held out to me. At first, it was bland as shvt in my mouth. I was pretty sure that the damn thing didn't have any nutritional value whatsoever beyond sawdust and burnt scraps. But with time, I came to appreciate the dry and ashy texture of edible food as opposed to the constant hunger rocking my body.
Hunger truly was the most powerful seasoning.
