Music bounced off of every surface, distorting the lyrics of the melancholy melodies. The fan overhead lazily rotated with the changing air currents, squeaking softly to express its point of view. Every so often a bolt or a nut would jump away from the iron, only to interrupt the constant monotony of my task for the briefest of moments. Rubber and motor oil were all around me. Their fragrance mingled together to remind all who entered of their claim to the premises.
My fingers burned. My finger nails had been whittled away by the constant tapping and twisting that was my assignment.
Matching the auditory tones of the evening, the gray walls and racks combined with the low lighting stood in stark contrast to the vibrant and energetic colors in the other room. Gray. Such was my fate. Sweat accumulated on my upper lip. Once in a while I would taste the salts as I bit my lip to stifle a scream. Skin grows back- most of the time.
Time. What was the time? Night, I believed. I could no longer detect the pinpoints of light breaking through the rust holes near the fan. Isolated from reality, I continued to toil away the hours in my cage. Soon I would be free. Just one more row…
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