The boy in the ruins

It was pitch black, nothing. All I had was my fiery flame, from my wooden torch. My pale, swollen feet trudging on the cold pebbly floor. Splinters on my burnt hands from the rough wood of the torch, I couldn’t afford to drop it, since it was my only source of light. All of a sudden, a beam of light shone on my lifeless face. I had forgotten what it was like to see light; I Had not seen it in a long time.  I saw the symmetric patterns on the stone walls. I stubbed my toe on what I think are old, cobblestone stairs. I lift up my foot onto the first rocky step. One. Two. Three. I can feel my heart is pounding. One. Two. Three. I finally reach the top. I tilt my head up, only to see a dark, gloomy passage way, like a haunted house, waiting for someone to enter. I took one step closer. Then another. Then another. The charcoal path sucking me in like a child in an irresistible playground. When I enter, I feel a pang of regret in my dark heart. I knew now, there was no turning back. I was a piece in a game of death, and there was no escape.

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