Two Thirty Nine

You are awake. In the blackness that surrounds you, the only source of light comes from a digital clock counting down. As you inspect the walls with your fingers, you feel desperate etchings in the deteriorating concrete. A chained door with a barred window leads deeper into the darkness; farther into the unknown. You cannot remember how you ended up in this place or why you are here. The only thing you are certain of is an overwhelming sense of foreboding: the sense that your time is running out.