T H E T U S C A R O R A R E V I E W 2 0 2 3 2 5 The Dungeon J . P A T R I C K G A L L E T T I There is flesh peeling off the walls: bleeding, sogging, sloughing down the wet stonework and splattering into blobs. I smell something terrible in the humid air, like musty rot and wet dog. I try to struggle against the cold manacles around my ankles and wrists, but when I do, they bite me. They bite me so bad that hot blood trickles out in rivulets and stains my threadbare pants. It’s too dark to see anything very well. I can only smell soggy meat and stale urine. Something is breathing in the corner. Something ugly and malformed. I can barely see it. All twisted heaps of fur and twitching muscles. I’m in Hell; this has to be Hell. I struggle against my bonds again and they bite me even harder. The rattling chains wake the ugly thing up and it twitches harder. It starts to contort and stand up, but it’s so fucked up that it stands up wrong. It’s hunched and distorted, on four knobby legs, and shaking. It’s some animal, some horrible animal. It shambles at me, uneven, like the three steps it takes are almost enough to break its feeble legs. Then it lunges. I recoil, but the manacles around the thing screech and jerk it to the floor and it screams. It howls a harrowing gurgle, like a choking beast drowning in blood, and writhes on the water-logged floor. Chains rattle in the dark, and the thing keeps screaming. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. Putrid flesh and stale urine splash on me; it splashes in my eyes, on my face, in my mouth. Then I scream too. I scream at the mirror in front of me. I scream until blood comes out of my throat, and I can’t scream anymore. Author Information: I wrote this piece for my college creative writing course. Because of the encouragement of my professor, I was able to write this piece and give it the love and detail I felt it deserved. I’m very proud of what I wrote, and would love to share it.
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