Story Tuesday: Dark

(Photo from here.)

For this week's Story Tuesday, I give you a short scene from my as-yet-unpublished novel, Fidelio. Enjoy!
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Florestan awoke in total darkness. This was normal, for he often slept with his blanket over his face, the better to keep himself warm. It never became warm in the dungeon, and Florestan suspected that he was far underground. Despite the little brazier, the previous winter had been bitter. He seriously doubted that the next would be any better.

Florestan hated the darkness. It never abated. Only a candle burning outside his door lighted his cell. Inside, all was in shadow. The little brazier offered some light as the wood inside it burned, but it was not enough to light the whole dungeon. Florestan dreamed of light. He dreamed of the sun on his face, of wax candles and oil lamps illuminating a room. His spirits sank every time he opened his eyes to the candle’s dim light. Now, though, as he pulled the blanket away from his face, the candle’s paltry light did not greet him. All was in darkness. The light had gone out.

Florestan sat up, cold horror flooding him. He could see nothing. Nothing. The light was gone! He could not see his hand in front of his face. The straw was beneath him, the blanket around him, and yet the darkness pressed down on Florestan like a suffocating shroud.

“Help!” he gasped. “Please! Light the candle!”

But there was no one there. Florestan curled in on himself, pulling the blanket around him. Go to sleep. Sleep. Perhaps if he slept, the jailer would come and light the candle again. Or perhaps he had come already-perhaps the governor of this horrible place had ordered Florestan to be left in darkness. The jailer refused to tell him where he was. Was he to be left now in darkness until the end of his life? The thought beggared imagination. Florestan lurched to his feet and stumbled to the door, reaching it from memory rather than sight. He grasped the iron bars in the grille and begged.

“Help! Come back!” he screamed. His voice echoed up the staircase, drifting away into the stillness. “Please, I beg you! Help me!”

Nothing. The darkness enveloped Florestan, pressed against him. He flattened himself against the door. There were things in this darkness. He was not alone. The man who always came to beat him was here, no doubt, and would soon attack him. Why else couldn’t he see? Why else extinguish his one beacon?

“Please don’t,” Florestan whispered. He sank down, hugging his knees to his chest like an overgrown child. His chest was tight, so tight that he could not breathe. He had not had night terrors since he was a child, but here…here anything could happen. It did happen. Nightmares came true in this place. Men hurt each other here; they chained one’s arms and tortured them. They left them to suffer far from their loved ones, far from the light of day. Florestan pressed his hands to his face and bit his fingers in a vain attempt not to scream in rage and fear.

“Let me go!” he gasped. “Please! Bring me a light!”

But no one came. No one at all.
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Let me know what you think! I hope your Tuesday wasn't as grim as Florestan's.