Deep within the vestiges of every living person, a small room is present. Thick, jagged, cave-like walls decorate this small space. Not a single door nor window allows for escape. The room is boiling hot, causing the area to be sweltering.
A single man lies within. His body is muscular and strong; carved and gruesome from many scars and burns. He rests in an uncomfortable sleep, his greasy brow coated in a thick sweat from his surroundings. A twisted pile of uneven hair clings to his skull. Any remnants of fine clothing still hang from his large frame, now a torn and dirty mass of material barely hiding his nakedness.
Something awakens the broken man. Blood-red eyes shift about the room, his chest beginning to rise and fall quickly. He tries to move freely, but cannot. A tormented growl leaves his cracked, bloody lips at the sight of large shackles accenting his wrists like grotesque jewelry. He cries out again from the burning sensation emanating from the white-hot links of iron binding him. The unforgiving walls echo another burning shriek, this time at the injustice of his captivity.
He stands upon a set of flat, grime-encrusted feet. His entire body aches from lack of proper rest. Frantic fingers scratch at the still-burning metal attached to his body. Rage begins to boil inside him as his efforts for freedom result in merely burning himself further. With a frenzied shout, he makes a move for one of the walls. Similar, burning chain holds his ankles from spreading too quickly. He first looks down, then lets out his millionth cry of fury. He hobbles to the only item within the tiny room; a single, dented anvil. The sickening sound of metal upon metal reaches his ears as he begins to pound his bound wrists into the object. He needed freedom from his pain. He thirsted for it in the way an artery thirsts for fresh blood.
His flesh burns with each strike, but he continues driving the shackles into the anvil. He stops suddenly, the pain becoming too overwhelming for him to continue. His brow knit together. He grinds his teeth. A feeling beyond anything he could imagine overtakes his senses. He stands to his full height, muscles rippling with each, slight movement. He begins slamming his fists into the steel, letting out an inhuman shout of pure pain and torture. The unmistakable crack of bones shattering emanated from his knuckles. His fingers burned from the fresh heat now sourcing from the anvil. He stumbled to one of the walls and threw himself at it. The rough stone cut at his skin. He felt even more heat sear into his body at the contact, causing a pure frustration to layer atop the other horrid emotions he currently experienced. He repeated the motion again and again, the jagged walls cutting into his skin, the intense heat searing what remained.
The man suddenly realizes that he will never be heard. There will be no one to help or rescue him. He halts his movements and pulls upon one of the chains binding him with a broken hand, the flesh charring beneath. He cares little. With the free hand, he tears at the remainder of his clothing. The pain is enjoyable, somehow. He presses the chain to his chest, the resulting feeling causing him to cry out in a mixture of utter pain and the sweetest enjoyment. He begins to parade about the tiny, cramped room, spreading his blood upon the walls by scraping against them. Painting them. Red seemed to suit his new home.
He finally lies back down upon the rocky, uncomfortable earth. The chain had thoroughly blackened his chest. He feels no pain from the thing now. He lets out a sigh of contentment, somehow comforted by his surroundings. It felt so good to be alone.
His head collides softly with the ground, kicking up a cloud of fresh dust that stings at his eyes and nostrils. The smallest of laughs leaves his rippled, burned chest. Sleepiness begins to overtake him, silently commanding his eyelids shut. He obeys, shutting out the grizzly scene before him. He never felt more at home.
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