“These corridors are all the same, this map is fucking useless” he exclaimed.
He was right of course, the halls where all identical except for their tell-tale strips of colours that lead you along to the designated area, this he did not know.
I’m probably not the first person to get lost here but hell he thought leaning with his back to the wall, scanning the large map in his hands.
The lights flickered from their pristine white to red, five minute warning he reminded himself, he was never going to make it in time and he knew it, yet had concluded that the closer he was the less he would be in the dark.
The ship creaks as he creeps.
The lights had been out for a while now and all that was left was the low wattage bulbs with their eerie red glow, ruining his already foul mood like an uninvited guest, but this guest had the aura of death.
With each step he released an echo that filled the void of sound, bouncing all around him filling every nook and cranny where it sent off another, yet quieter echo. His sense of impending doom had already been heightened from the blood covered colour the walls had adopted from the corridors new guests, but now with his echo disappearing in all directions, being sent back to him after they hit a dead end, or an empty room with nothing to absorb them and with what seems to be a reflection of his own desperation for survival, they return, giving him uncontrollable anxiety as his long dead footsteps gift him with the illusion of being followed.
The maintenance door was sealed, once an automatic door now had the characteristics of a two foot solid steel wall, the power was out, and reserve was just as dead. Standing still his ears where filled with the piercing sound of silence, his late footsteps had become a distant memory and the corridors had dissolved into darkness, he could feel his body convulse with each heartbeat sending shudders of overwhelming power through his body.
The darkness felt infinite, his visual memory of his surroundings begins to fade. It’s not the darkness that makes his skin crawl nor the fact he feels like a rat trapped in a maze, it is the stomach churning sounds that resonates through the corridors.
 The blood covered walls would the guest of honour at this party as he heard the clicking and clanking of bone on metal, who was going to see his walls of blood?
That gut wrenching sound which drew ever so closer had converted into a symphony of snarls that bellow towards him combined with the mind destroying darkness, he closed his eyes to fill his mind with every good moment that he had ever been a part of.
A series of snapshots flooded his mind, so bright that he almost forgot where he was, but the dark seemed to creep back in, his Pandora’s box had been revealed, his current situation the key to release the horrors trapped inside but what hope could be found within.
His butterfly came in the form of a ship engine.
Blinding light burns his eyes, he tries to close them but the damage had already been caused, burning their signatures into his retinas, straining to keep them open, tears cascading down his face he attempts to scan the immediate area, nothing.
In a moment of relief he falls back to lean on that ex wall imposter.
Clunk, clank, clang, the maintenance door slides open, removing all balance from the man, causing him to stumble backwards landing on his ass, and for a moment he sits there allowing the rest of his lower body to continue its journey with full force, his feet  swing above his head causing him to roll down the narrow, yet steep flight of metal stairs, his leg swings round smashing into the steel railing, filling the room with a horrendous crack as gravity continues to wreak havoc on him pulling him further down until he comes to a screeching halt as his leg becomes trapped between the connected steel poles, bone forces it way through his flesh, sending the warm yet burning sensation as blood trickles down his leg.
He peers up the flight of stairs as the door resumes its wall status
Breathless and bloody, the man lies on his back, on the verge of screaming out in pain or laughing hysterically, in this moment the most stupid of things runs through his mind and without even thinking about he says it out loud “…How can this get anywor..” the lights fade back to darkness, allowing him to dwell on his foolish remark.
Now the rat is trapped and injured.
He lay there in the darkness, his mind running around at the severity of his injuries from its just broken, which was undeniable, he had heard the snap regardless of feeling it, but how bad, the panic filled his mind and soon he felt his cheeks begin to fill with pressure, his eyeballs pulsing until he noticed he was holding his breath, the pain had taken over completely now.
His consciousness trapped within his personal torture chamber.
Eventually the rolling blackout took its course; the engine was stalling but powering up, just enough for residual energy to be pumped out to give momentary lighting. He looked down to see his leg half shredded, the scattered bones had ripped through the flesh, sharp spires raised from skin and blood, swallowing half of the bile that breached his mouth and spitting the rest out in such a feeble matter that it simply  dribbled down his chin and began soaking through to his chest.
He looked around the room noticing his satchel on floor behind him; he extends his arm to reach for it to not only fail at but also inflicting more damage to his flayed remains that was once his left leg.
The thought had not crossed him mind until then.
He had to get his hands on that bag; he had lost enough blood to question his current ‘compos mentis’ yet soon he knew the cold sweats would come, his own rolling blackouts and finally nothing.
Your leg or your life filled his thoughts, but the one he was trying to focus on is: this is just a moment, it will pass and I will survive. He kept repeating it over and over.
This moment will pass, but the memory will not be forgotten, it will live on forever acting as a perpetual energy source to fuel his dreams with terror.
So he sits there playing the decision maker, mulling over the question that he already answered, but it was not the answer that troubled him it was the conjoining event it invoked. No tools, no knife, nothing. How do you remove a leg with your bare hands? Something he would grimace at later when he knew the answer.
The answer of course is…anyway you can.
Coagulated blood clings to his fingers with clots of dark red dye.
Don’t pass out was his new repeating anthem.
Finger nails acting as clippers, tearing his torn flesh.
Don’t pass out..
Lightning bolts fire up through is knee, through his groin and reaching the front of his brain as he severed each nerve.
Don’t..don…p…ass out..
He falls down the last step as his foot and shin are released from their bonds, the cold blood splatters his face, this time the breach is too powerful, the bile is projected out of him showering what is left of his legs, and the second half of this vomit show is a by-product brought on by the sight of his digestive juice covered stump. The tourniquet has stopped the flow of blood for now, but what really matters now is his need to not pass out..
The deep forests with its ambient chorus of birds, its crystal blue rivers and streams of serenity.
Do not fucking do it.
The sea lapping on a golden beach with white foam washing away his footprints, lying under the bed covers, sharing her smile.
Nope. Not working.
Small black dots appear, growing larger in size as his sight begins to fade; the inescapable pain is now sending him away. His last thought will take five hours to answer but then it will become trivial.