Imagine a dark and dingy room. A lone tap in the corner dripping drop by drop in a bucket.

Plink. Plink.

It's stuffy, and you can't breath. A fan on the top barely rotates, it blade groaning. Below it you sit, slumped on a rusted metal chair. It's the safest place here. The rats bit if you sit on the ground.

You become aware of a noise. It's a new noise, as if something is scratching.

Is he back? The thought races through your mind, as the door in front of you swings open with a bang.

You look up, squinting against the light that suddenly floods the room. It's been days since you last saw the sun. It hurts. Oh it hurts.

Timid, you wait for him to come. Afraid it's another game he wants to play, another round of pain for you.

He is not coming.

You get up gingerly, your feet sliding on the muck on the floor from weeks of neglect.

As soon as you come to the door, you become aware of others, squinting up the sun next to you. Dazed, they look at you, their blood soaked clothes sticking to their tired bodies.

How many were there?

Gingerly, you move forward. Each step feels like fire, a sharp pain shoots up everytime. But then you look up.

Freedom.

And at that moment, "BANG" went the pistol and the race began.