Hey everyone, I've had a rough couple of weeks so I sat down this weekend and decided to write a short into...what I thought would be fun is to have y'all read it and come up with a possible "scenerio" which could have gotten "Myra" into her situation...I'm curious to see what kind of warped imagination my fellow writers have...I'm sure I won't be disappointed... :)
Myra squinted from the bright light that filtered through the small window in the center of the ceiling. She moved to get up but found that something prevented her from doing so. Looking down at her wrists she saw the two inch thick shackles chained to the stonewall behind her. Panic struck through her like a thunderbolt. A similar belt like shackle was clamped around her waist and held her securely to the wall, leaving only about two three feet of chain for movement. The shackles were positioned in such a way, to keep her at knee level at all times.
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would burst right out of her chest. Tears flooded her eyes and clouded her vision as she stared at the slab of black wall in front of her. Horror was sinking in and her mind swarmed with questions she doubted would ever be answered. Myra closed her eyes tightly and forced herself to remember something, anything, but the only thing she could see was the flash of light just before the plane went down. The plane...oh my god she thought, all those people, gone. Did they all die? Or were they prisoners like her? Was she a prisoner? If so, who was her jailer? Or what? Hell, was this hell? No! No! No! It couldn't be she was a good person! She always did the right thing...It wasn't fair she shouldn't be punished! She felt sick to her stomach.
Tears streamed down her face, she sobbed uncontrollably and bent to hug her knees and roll her self into a fetal position. The chains wouldn't allow it, preventing even this simplest attempt at self-comfort. Myra sank back against the stonewall behind her. As the hopelessness of the situation began to sink in, she looked around the tiny cell. It was only about 6 feet wide and 8 feet long, she guessed. The walls were dark; smooth not quite black in color but a glossy shade of dark gray. There was no visible door or even an outlining of a way out. The floor was made of the same stone as the walls and felt cold and damp beneath her knees.
Again, she saw no evidence of an exit or entrance for that matter. The only opening of any kind was the window carved in to the ceiling that was at least fifteen feet high, and impossible for her to reach. Steadying her breathing, Myra leaned back against the wall again, a chill raced down her bare back as it touched the surface. Suddenly she realized that she was cold, very cold. Looking down at her exposed breasts, it suddenly occurred to her that she was naked. Humiliated, she squeezed her legs together and sat on the hunches of her feet trying to cover up as best she could. Realizing the silliness of that action. She slumped back and gave up hope. Her eyes began to blur before she finally gave in to exhaustion.