PTSD: 313 words

Damian had been sitting in that cold room for who knows how long. His mind never shut down to sleep when it was dark. The constant hum in his brain was occasionally shattered by a loud bang.

This had been one of those moments, his eyes closed trying to latch onto some form of rest...when a loud bang rang through the air.

Damian shot up from the small cot and ran towards the cell door. His breathing was erratic and every part of his body felt numb, but also surged with an energy he couldn't describe. He recognized that bang, that loud ringing after the fact. It was him.

But that couldn't be he was dead, Damian killed him...unless he survived.

He's coming for me...

The soft taps of shoes echoed through the empty hall leading to his cell. Damian stepped back and hid in the darkest corner of his cell. His face buried into his knees, his body shaking with so fear...so much fear.

The tapping had only gotten louder, and the shadow of that man kept approaching, stretching to try and grab him. He curled even tighter around himself, if he made himself small the bad man...his victim...won't be able to see him or torment him. He'd be safe.

The sounds of shoes hitting the floor stopped, and Damian's breath hitched.

He's here

"Damian Martinez..." the voice spoke causing Damian to look.

He could see the familiar silhouette, a slim man who wore clothing a couple of sizes too large for his body. The pale skin was tainted by blood that seemed to drip from his fingers. His face was hidden in shadow, the only discernible feature was the crooked smile.

Damian pushed himself further into the wall, hoping that the cold concrete could swallow him whole.

"...My name is Hannibal Lecter."

Then the figure took a different shape.