70 years… Seventy long years have passed since Miguel was imprisoned in this godforsaken place. Seventy years without feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin or breathing in the scent of fresh air. Instead, darkness has consumed him, like a black shroud that is never lifted. A scruffy, matted beard hangs from his gaunt, pale face, etched with deep wrinkles and holding tired, dull eyes. Once, his hair had been thick and full of life, but over time, it grew thin and brittle until barely anything remained—a pitiful remnant of what he once was.
Since the age of 15, he has been confined here, trapped between the damp, cold walls of this cell. His crime? Murder, mutilation, and desecration of corpses. The judgment of the supreme court was merciless: guilty, without ever granting him the chance to speak, to defend himself. Whether he was truly guilty or not did not matter—the verdict was final. Now, at 85, he feels his body beginning to fail him. He knows the end is near. Yet, instead of fear or despair, he feels a strange warmth inside, a sense of indifference wrapping around him like a cloak. Death means freedom to him—a freedom he was never granted in life.
In the darkness, interrupted only by the occasional faint beam of light, a soft rustling suddenly broke the silence. It pierced through the endless stillness, accompanied only by the monotonous dripping of water from the cracked ceiling. With a sluggish jerk, Miguel turned his heavy head toward the source of the sound. A rat scurried quickly past his bare feet, disappearing into a shadowy corner of the opposite wall. It was a sight so familiar that he barely reacted to it. Moments later, the oppressive silence returned—a crushing stillness that weighed on him like an invisible burden, making the days in his prison seem endless.
Miguel died. Three years after his 85th birthday, at the age of 88, his frail body finally gave out. But death was no merciful release for him. The prison authorities had made it their mission to keep him alive for as long as possible—not out of compassion, but as part of a calculated display of power. They used drugs, machines, and countless other methods to prolong his inevitable demise. It was their twisted message to the outside world: even death must wait when the state decrees it.
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When his body eventually failed, it was as if time within the prison momentarily stood still. Two guards entered his dim, lifeless cell, their faces cold and indifferent. Without a word, they dragged his emaciated, skeletal body out into the corridor and placed it on a rusty cart that clattered as it rolled toward the crematorium. There, his remains were burned to ashes, which were then scattered across the prison grounds without ceremony—just as had been done with so many others before him. But Miguel was beyond knowing any of this.
In death, he found himself trapped in a strange, sluggish existence. It was like being lost in an endless, dreamless sleep, drifting aimlessly through a vast and hollow void. Time held no meaning in this state. He could not discern the start or end of a day, a month, or even a year. Everything blurred together into a dense, indistinct haze. Miguel was barely aware of his own condition, like someone with their eyes open in complete darkness yet seeing nothing. He was neither awake nor asleep. It was as if his consciousness lingered at the edge of reality, caught between existence and nonexistence—a bizarre limbo where he could feel and yet not feel. It was a peculiar mix of helplessness and awareness, an eternal suspension without direction or purpose.
The emptiness stretched endlessly, until one day, it was interrupted—if only for a brief moment. A light. A faint, flickering light pierced through the darkness, enveloping Miguel in an indescribable sensation that, for a fleeting instant, made him aware of himself again. It wasn’t the warmth of the sun or the light of life; it was something entirely different—cold, yet oddly comforting.
For that brief moment, he felt the faintest connection to his physical form, as if he was being called back for just an instant. But as quickly as it had come, the light vanished, and the darkness reclaimed him once more.
