Every prison cell had its own story, its history filled with pain and terror and courage to resist.
Cain could feel, deep in his core, everything that happened within these dark walls. While his own sentence had been to live alone, encased in tin and tortured with his own failure, others had not been even that lucky. Walking these halls with his notes and crudely drawn maps felt like walking through a nightmare of bitter resentment and hollow words.
Cement floors stained with things Cain would rather not consider mocked him from beyond barred doors. Some were open, some still closed. Scratches on the walls caught his eye every now and again but he kept going, noting on his drawings the cell numbers and descriptions.
It was the careful, tediously created gouges in the wall of the last cell in this corridor that drew his focus. When he read the words, his vision blurred white and suddenly he was sitting on the floor, sharp pain radiating up his back from the fall.
He left the papers where they had scattered and crawled on shaking legs across the cold, rust-colored floor. His hand rose on its own accord, tracing trembling fingers over the crisp, clear letters. 'MY NAME IS AMBROSE.'
It was a desperate reminder for a frighteningly brave man.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-03-13 07:14 pm (UTC)Cain could feel, deep in his core, everything that happened within these dark walls. While his own sentence had been to live alone, encased in tin and tortured with his own failure, others had not been even that lucky. Walking these halls with his notes and crudely drawn maps felt like walking through a nightmare of bitter resentment and hollow words.
Cement floors stained with things Cain would rather not consider mocked him from beyond barred doors. Some were open, some still closed. Scratches on the walls caught his eye every now and again but he kept going, noting on his drawings the cell numbers and descriptions.
It was the careful, tediously created gouges in the wall of the last cell in this corridor that drew his focus. When he read the words, his vision blurred white and suddenly he was sitting on the floor, sharp pain radiating up his back from the fall.
He left the papers where they had scattered and crawled on shaking legs across the cold, rust-colored floor. His hand rose on its own accord, tracing trembling fingers over the crisp, clear letters. 'MY NAME IS AMBROSE.'
It was a desperate reminder for a frighteningly brave man.
This was where Glitch had been born.