Jerk
I wanted to shout, but my scream barely hit the void - a hollow and strange creak. Then I noticed the weight: a heavy, corroded link as hot as beaten metal, crossing my spine.
It wasn't tied to my form; it was attached to my marrow. Every time I tried to straighten up, the link pulled with fierce force, forcing me to bend my back and place my palm on my forehead as if I could endure the phantom pain of flesh that had rotted centuries ago.
I looked down, and panic froze my empty eyes. I wasn't sitting on the ground, but atop a damp and slippery hill of what appeared to be my own waste, or worse, that of others who had fled before.
The link pulled again, a strong and repetitive pull that slowly dragged me into complete darkness at the back of the room. The most terrifying thing isn't being dead, nor is it the suffering of being a living bone; what's really bad is knowing that this link isn't a shackle to hold me together, but rather a leash.
And something in the darkness, something that exhales densely and wetly, is preparing to make the next effort to pull me toward it.
Loss of control, being stuck, or feeling like nothing can happen that will bring the peace I need. Even though there is a leash upon us, some things can be broken, but death is something we cannot comprehend, and therefore, it is scary.
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