It's been five days.
I haven't eaten nor drank since I was hurried into the underground at the blood- curdling shriek of a gun.
I have listened only to the sickly cries of small children, adults, and warriors alike. The heavy stamping of boots over our heads, punctuated with sharp cracks from their leather belts, reminding us our ever-declining situation. It smells of sweat and human waste in the tiny room.
