Prison

It moves with blistering speed. Sting. The joviality cannot last long. Whack. It has been splattered. Death.

The night is calm. Blood oozes out. Won't make matters worse.

Outside, a mongrel howls. The eternal cacophony had died down, but could never be silenced. The hernia will continue within. Lowest common denominator pain.

The eyes can continue to waffle around. Nothing would act as a soporific.

The thin luminescence is thin enough. The chains are too strong though. A light strand of the foul odor enters the lungs and tries to choke the senses. Rather it was already too desensitizing.

Claustrophobic.

4x7. That's all the space humanity needs. To suffer. To repent. To be brutal. To kill.