2/30 Distance

The ground was as cold and hard as the steel bar that pressed against his cheek. He grunted and strained again, his shoulder moving slightly under the bar. His fingertips grazed the wooden bucket, which was swollen with cool, stagnant water. It was most likely riddled with parasites from the dank dungeon, but the soldiers cracked, dry lips and thick tongue would graciously take in the poison--if only he could reach the vessel.

It was placed strategically in front of his cell the day he was imprisoned. Like many times before, he would never reach, and would soon succumb.