By Jameson Grey
The drip, drip, drip of water taunts me slowly, like the drip, drip, drip of time in this well of despair. I stretch up, towards precious lesser light, my fingers grasping for an escape they cannot reach.
From above comes a familiar-sounding voice. Has my brother discovered me at last?
“Louis,” I call. “Down here!”
Silence responds at length.
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Wrong time, wrong place – wrong views, wrong face. I was that man. It’s what brought me here. I pray Louis gets word to our allies soon.
I hear screams, and torment met only by others’ laughter. My stomach knots. There’s no imminent rescue from this darkness. The agony continues for me and for my unseen companion above.
“We’re not forgotten yet!” I cry into the din, but it’s false bravado, for I had heard my brother call my name in anguish, and my words resounded hollow, cast deep within this oubliette.
Jameson Grey is originally from England but now lives with his family in western Canada. His fiction and poetry have been published in anthologies by Ghost Orchid Press and Hellbound Books as well as online at Trembling with Fear and Dark Moments. He can be found at jameson-grey.com and occasionally on Twitter @thejamesongrey.
The Birdseed 