Psychosis (Peter)
Peter no longer had his one companion here in his dark prison. The Templar who had disobeyed his bretheren to help Peter had been found out. Peter was well and truly alone.
He had abandoned his bed, choosing to sit or lie on the floor with his back flush against the rear wall of the fortress. Somehow it made him feel more ready for some kind of attack, should it come through the door when he was facing it. He spent half the time terrified that something horrible would come through the door, and the other half, wishing anything would because it would prove he wouldn't be alone forever.
He wanted to sleep. He knew it had been well over seventeen days now. He wondered if it had taken this long to find anyone. He wondered if anyone was still looking for him, or if they considered him well and truly lost.
More than anything, Peter slept. There was no food, now that his Templar helper was gone. His water was dwindling. He had no pen or paper to distract him. No light to see. There was no sound except the drip, drip, drip of water in a corner he could no longer reach. It seemed there was nothing to do but sleep. In his dreams he could have anything he wanted. Light, sound, hope, love. He gorged himself on them, letting false reality comfort him when nothing else could.
In the hours he was awake, Peter was only halfway aware. He was terrified in his black world of nothingness. Once again it became all too easy to believe he was the only person alive. That something had happened in the outside world and he alone inhabited it; stuck as he was below miles of earth.
Soon there would be hallucinations and psychosis. Already the line between his dreams and his reality was blurring. In the meantime, Peter just hoped to be found before the line disappeared completely.
He had no way of knowing how close they were.
He had abandoned his bed, choosing to sit or lie on the floor with his back flush against the rear wall of the fortress. Somehow it made him feel more ready for some kind of attack, should it come through the door when he was facing it. He spent half the time terrified that something horrible would come through the door, and the other half, wishing anything would because it would prove he wouldn't be alone forever.
He wanted to sleep. He knew it had been well over seventeen days now. He wondered if it had taken this long to find anyone. He wondered if anyone was still looking for him, or if they considered him well and truly lost.
More than anything, Peter slept. There was no food, now that his Templar helper was gone. His water was dwindling. He had no pen or paper to distract him. No light to see. There was no sound except the drip, drip, drip of water in a corner he could no longer reach. It seemed there was nothing to do but sleep. In his dreams he could have anything he wanted. Light, sound, hope, love. He gorged himself on them, letting false reality comfort him when nothing else could.
In the hours he was awake, Peter was only halfway aware. He was terrified in his black world of nothingness. Once again it became all too easy to believe he was the only person alive. That something had happened in the outside world and he alone inhabited it; stuck as he was below miles of earth.
Soon there would be hallucinations and psychosis. Already the line between his dreams and his reality was blurring. In the meantime, Peter just hoped to be found before the line disappeared completely.
He had no way of knowing how close they were.