If I had the words, I'd tell you what it's like to measure your life out in miles, the way that I do.
I've woken up before, wondering with some kind of intoxicating happiness just how exactly I got here.
But those days are miles and miles behind me.
Right now, I'm in a room that I feel I'll never leave.
I'm in this room, and I've never felt so clearly that time is something that is running out of an hourglass, and instead of years, it's days, maybe only minutes that are left.
I've resigned myself that I may die in this room. Probably, I will.
Pain is close, but death, closer still.
If I ever get out of this room, I will never get out of this room.
Do you know what it's like to be broken? Bled?
Do you know what it's like to feel pain until you wish, you pray, you hope for a death that never comes? I pray that you never do.
I tried escaping once, and even while I was running, I knew that it was some kind of test, a trick.
And I paid. Oh, sweet Lord, how I paid.
I paid in screams and blood and pain that cut into me like merciless silver eyes. That time, I thought I'd rupture my throat with my screams.
If there is to be death, it's going to be of my own choosing.
If I get the opportunity, I'm getting out of this room, even if it means that he will haul my bleeding body out of here and bury me in some anonymous grave.
If I get the chance, I'm taking it.
If I can get out of here, I will.
If I have to pay with my life, so be it.
The killer awoke before dawn, he put his boots on
He took a face from the ancient gallery
And he walked on down the hall...