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The words from the images:
With such thoughts he wrestled in earnest, struggling to decide. Death would surely bring peace, but peace was not his to have.
Every miserable second of his existence mocked him unceasing. What forces stayed death’s icy hand he did not know. Agony and misery were his bedfellows, as were the rats, drawn by the smell of blood, to harass him if he dropped his guard.
As his body trembled on the cold stone floor, he pondered how much longer he would live. A week? Perhaps a day? Was he, this very moment, living within his last hour? The thought had run through his mind often, yet he never grew numb to it. Was it merely a thought, or more so a yearning?
He stared blankly into the darkness, pondering things a man should not ponder until a single ray of light crept into view, slowly pulling the darkness away, replacing it with the morning sun through a slit at the top of his dank prison. A deep, ragged sigh passed his cracked lips. He knew the misery of the nights, and abhorred it. But worse yet was that this daylight would bring the guards.
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