I awake to the smell of concrete and rusted metal. Before the holes I call eyes open, the dank air embraces me. Fills my lungs like water and holds me tight as a forgotten lover. The tomb is silent but for the steady drip of water. A silent cacophony standing in stark defiance to the quiet that surrounds it. A futile display. My eyes flicker but do not open. Dark suns encased in a greater blackness. They're bountiful rays oppressed by the night that will not relinquish its hold. But a crack is made, and the dull grey of life seeps through. I am greeted by an empty hallway, forlorn and devoid of consciousness. A puddle has gathered in its centre, an odd and misshapen thing. A rustic inkblot that Rorschach would have been happy to give employ. I wondered if I could reach it through the bars. Touch it, and vicariously immerse myself in its freedom.  In its possibility. Suddenly, the grate of iron on iron filled the halls. The shriek of metal and old hinges joined the chorus, until finally, only steps remained. Calm, solemn things whose leisure exerted authority upon the air. My mind urged me to rise, but my body lacked the will to comply. Dark eyes like hungry fires greeted the stranger, dressed in fine dapper if not damp wear. His eyes were as winter, blue orbs of chipped ice. His lips formed a smile and in it betrayed their lack of sincerity. There was a violence to his gaze, an unsuppressed furry. His lips were moving, words were being spoken yet I could barely grasp a whisper. I forced myself to focus, to return from that inner retreat, and slowly, the noises of the world came back to me. His voice faded into being, a surprisingly pleasant baritone "... your arraignment is to be set a month from now, the retrial will commence shortly there after and you will be placed in a holding facility till the remainder of the trial is concluded. A noticeably finer arrangement then solitary. Any questions?"
A small part of me chuckled, the sound was hoarse, grim, more like the wheezing cough of a dying man than a laugh. He seemed to smile, a severity to the sincerity of the gesture. As if cruelty lay just beyond the border of his lips. They were moving again, morphing and contorting into different shapes. The noises they made were a blur though, fading like the sound of a car disappearing into the distance. Its slow engine purring out of existence.