30 Day Writing Challenge - Day One

Prompt:  "Day 1 —Select a book at random in the room.  Find a novel or short story, copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story."

From I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by Tucker Max, "HELP!!"

"HELP!!" Michael screamed in manic fury. 

Michael worked his fingers nails against the cold, stone walls.  Rapidly they wore down to the soft tender flesh of his skin and further back.  They hardly made a sound as they cracked and came off in splinters.  Neither did Michael as he was slow to notice in his fervor - blood trickled and a throbbing pain set in.  But Michael did not cry.

Minutes.

Michael burst into tears.  The panic had come out again, had come back to play.  Collapsing, shaking, and sitting in a small pool of water.  Michael thought about how long he would down here.  He thought about how long it would take to get out.  If he ever got out. 

Minutes.

No one was coming.  There was no one around to come collect him.  No one was coming to see him.  He was here alone and would always be. 
     They had forgotten about him.  They had left him there to die.  No one was coming no one was coming no one was coming. 

Minutes.

His feet were soggy and he felt disgusted.  It smelled foul down here and as much as he wish he could relieve himself of his wet clothes it would get him no where.  It didn't really matter though, did it?  Even if shedding his clothes did him some good what comfort could be afforded to a dying man?  What difference would it make?  He was a dying man.  No question about it.  No sir-ee.  No questions.  Michael hadn't a single question in his mind.  None at all. 

Minutes.

Michael found solace.  The pool was deeper than it looked.  An accidental discovery:  in a tantrum he had slipped and fell in. "I wonder how deep it goes..."