The Tribe

The man in the net awoke to the chanting in the cave, disorientated and unaware of the predicament he was in. It looked like he couldn’t see in the dark, he hadn’t been down here long. I saw him brought in late last night, dragged in by the north entrance and hoisted up to the ceiling. This was a while ago, though I am unsure how long as I am no longer able to tell the passing of time.

He clearly grew distressed with each passing second as he realised his arms and legs were bound, and I think he eventually realised he was upside down, once his senses had returned to him. I would have cried out to reassure him he wasn’t alone, but there was nothing I could do to help him. It would’ve only serve to fill him with hope, for it to be dashed to pieces a moment later, along with his skull. I just sat in my cell, watching as he squirmed to try and get free as the chanting escalated into a tumultuous roar of excitement and fury. He was soon being lowered down from the ceiling, slowly descending to the ground he began thrashing violently, trying to escape his bonds, or to at least show one last act of defiance before he met his end.

He soon disappeared from view among the crowd. I could only hear the ravenous shrieks of the beasts swarm him, and only on a few instances did I hear what sounded like a human voice, screaming in agony. But I tell myself that was just the beasts celebrating, for I don’t wish to think he was alive throughout. If the same is to happen to me, I don’t want to know I will be alive, suffering for what seems like an eternity at the claws of those things.