Page 13 of Johnny

Fine.

I will.

I’m dying of thirst, I haven’t eaten in years, and I’ve been chained to this wall so long my muscles

have probably atrophied, but OK. Sure. No problem. I’ll just walk right on out of here.

Fuck him.

I will. Watch me, dick. Cocksucking coward.

I think I pass out after that. Because my head jerks to the side and my eyes fly open in a startled

shake.

It hasn’t really been years since I ate. Couple days? Surely no longer than a week?

I’m totally fine. This is all gonna be fine.

There’s an old tray of food in the corner rotting away. My last guard was in the middle of eating it

when he was sent away and never came back. No rats have come to claim it, so I have every intention

of inhaling it before I walk out of here like the goddamned survivor I am.

Except I can’t get up.

I can barely move my legs. I try to crawl over to the table in the corner and collapse onto the hard,

damp concrete.

Not enough water to drink, of course. Just enough to tease me with the idea of water. Gotta keep

that ironic theme going. Can’t stop now.

But there’s a sink over there too. And a toilet.

I’m going to crawl over to the sink and then I’m gonna press that button on the faucet and suck that

water down like it’s straight from some artisan well in Fiji.

The toilet’s not an option.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m dying of thirst. So it would be, but it hasn’t been flushed. I can’t really

smell the stench in this room anymore, but what I can smell comes from that toilet.

It’s OK though. I have the sink. The water might taste like an old rubber hose but it will stop the

decay happening inside my body right now and give me just enough strength to make it back up to the

top.

The decaying sound of boots on steps down the hallway snaps my attention back to reality.

That bastard actually left me here.

“Fuck!”