I’ve been down so long, I’ve lost track of days. Without benefit of the sun, I rely on cycles to measure the passage of time. Eat, sleep, wake, eat, sleep, wake… three cycles equals one chit mark on the wall. Weeks, months all run together.
Subterranean noises are amplified. What may be a tiny mouse gnawing on a piece of discarded spring roll, sounds like a pack of wild dogs feeding, laying waste to some poor soul who wandered outside the brazier’s corona, outside the safe zone.
I need to scavenge for more food, that means venturing under the lights.