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The cold dark basement smelled of rotting mold and stagnant
water. Cobwebs lined the floor joists above moving only slightly to the wind of Larry's breath. A pinprick of light
showed through small holes in a window that had been painted black. The rest of the small dirt basement floor was
mostly in shadow, but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark Larry could make out the shapes of bare benches and
long forgotten shelves. Every now and then Larry would see a rat scurry under the stairwell. The animal would pause
for only a moment, look at the intruder in its realm, and then run off as though it had business of its own to
attend too.
The wooden chair beneath him felt hard and the back of it poked him painfully into his ribs. His wrists ached as
the ropes around them cut into his flesh. Gray duct tape held him firm to the chair and made breathing difficult.
A red scarf was stuffed in his mouth and another piece of tape held it there. The smell of his sweat-drenched uniform
pummeled his senses.
Larry had been sitting for what seemed like hours in this quiet purgatory, unable to move or scream for help. Several
times he had fallen to sleep and dreamt he was somewhere else, where he was free, breathing fresh air, and eating
some grand feast.
Only to awaken to this nightmare, this hellish circumstance, this mind numbing torture.
Some where outside, he could hear the faint sound of gunshots echo through the stonewalls. It frustrated Larry
that he couldn't be out there helping his fellow soldiers. It's what he was supposed to be doing, he was trained
to kill, and that was what he wanted to do. More then anything he wanted to rip the life from the bastards that
captured him, tied him up, and left him to die in this god-forsaken basement.
The funny part of the whole thing, Larry thought to himself, was that he used to love to play in his grandparent's
basement. They had a wondrous old house that stood on the same plot of land for nearly one hundred and fifty years.
It used to be the town's first postal station where pony express riders brought news of the countries expansion
and letters from distant relatives. Later it became a small mortuary until it was sold and had been a single family
home ever since. It was always creepy sleeping in the old house knowing that dead bodies used to lie in state there.
He never did see any ghosts, but sometimes just the thought of something is enough to scare you.
"They'll be here any minute to rescue me," Larry thought to himself as he tried to keep his spirit up.
One thing he was taught was to never let emotions control his thinking. Emotions could lead to depression and a
feeling of hopelessness when captured. He tried to hold on to his mind and think of other things like how he got
into this mess in the first place.
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