Playing With Death

Playing With Death

I wake up to the sound of dripping water and being cold. I feel something cold against my wrist. I open my eyes. It's dark everywhere. I move my hand, and notice that it is chained to the bed. I try to get up, but the same horrible pain prickles at my neck. I look around. I'm not in the hotel room anymore. I'm somewhere similar to a jail, damp and cold. A dim lamp is hanging from the ceiling, its light flickering from time to time.The walls are concrete and dirty. Water is dripping from the ceiling, making a trail on the ground.I hear the rats  squeaking and running around.