It's dark. Not your normal shadow of dark, aided by sunlight rather an abysmal, haunting dark. Gauging anything in proximity to himself is impossible. He tries to glance at his feet but he cannot see. He tries leering at his hand but he cannot see. The rodents scamper across the feet but still, there's no visual. The man hasn't seen sunlight in three months and as each day passes he grows more and more weary, some might say animalistic. With intelligence still intact he can't help the transformation. It torments him. Words begin to evade him. The lack of correspondence with intelligent beings depresses the man. His ankles are almost withered to the bone because of the tightness of the shingles, and the mastication of his ankles. The reclusiveness sets in after every second.

The cell he sits in is unsavory to say the least. Walls rising as high as city skylines. Bosky colored moss covers the rustic brick that lined the interior of the mile-high tunnel-like structure. The lowermost portion where man lay was a mixture of concrete, dust, rock and rodent feces. The man, who loved wildlife with a passion, couldn't make peace with feral life that resided in the chamber. Birds lived up in the alpine potion of the tunnel where they made nests to care for their young. Rodents scurry the floor sprinting past him, crawling up his pant legs from time to time. Nary food was given through the four-by-four grate in the wall. And what wasn't eaten, which was barely anything at this point, was free for the taking for any opponent that would come his way. If one could facsimile Hell in its purest form, this is what Satan prepared himself.

In solitude he waits, in cynicism he thinks, thinking about where he went wrong. Thoughts rush through his head like the water of a restless stream, and then fall off as if they washed over the edge. Recollecting on the events of his past, these remnants of man, begin to cry. The more he thinks the more emotional turmoil sets in. He screams. Not out of an angry or hateful disposition but one of regret. Regret that will follow him the rest of his days. He begins to lose his mental. It is in this moment that he realizes something. Something, as a man, you never want to admit. Something he could never come to grips with. The man is dying.

The crying turned into weeping and the weeping lead to an overwhelming sadness. So he laid. Laid because he was too weak to go on. Too deprived. He rested his head on the components of the floor and closed his eyes. His heartbeat dawdled and his breaths shorted. He knows what awaits him now. Rodents gnawing on the open ankle wounds, birds still fighting for the scraps of food around him but the man is in total peace.

You may ask why? Why a man in such torment nearing the end be in such a state of tranquility. His love has arrived. The woman who sent him to this cruel, unusual torment, has come to make face. She looks at him with apathy. So much to the point where she begins to weep outside the grate. She never meant for this. To put a man of good faith and good will, to his peril. She wants to apologize but the words can't come out. He wants to tell her something but in his state, he can't form sentences. They look into each others eyes. The crystal blue of the man and the hazel green of the woman lock up. The man knows these are his final seconds. The woman, dressed in red, knows it too. With his final breath, after months of not speaking a single hush of a word the man simply asks, "why?" His head falls limp to the surface .

She along with him asks herself, ”what did I do to deserve this?" As the mans hands go cold, she picks up her purse. In it she discovers something she was unaware she had. She pulls out a small knife, a knife the man had made himself. Her name was carved in it. With knife that was made of steel and the purest form of compassion in her heart, she makes her decision. Sobbing, she jerks back her arm and the knife cuts her. The knife was at her throat. Ending her pain. Ending the misery. Ending her own regret. As she bleeds she remembers, she still loves him. The woman falls to the floor with her hand still in the grate. Their cold hands were locked.