Time was running out.
I paced around the room, frantically trying to figure out what to do. There were no windows. Hell, it looked like there wasn’t even a door. But of course there was. There always was. Somehow, I had been shoved into this room.
There were no lamps, no light, and yet I could see clearly were the floor ended and intersected with the walls. There was nothing in this dark grey cell apart from the hourglass, were the sand steadily trickled through. I couldn’t turn it. Once the sand stopped trickling, they would gas this room. I knew that. There was no escape. No more time, and yet there was still too much time. Time during which all I could do was dread the end. And it would come. There was no way out.
Friday Fictioneers, 19th February 2016
Photo prompt provided by Sandra Crook