My hands clasp the bars; the cold metal bars; so cold they burn my hands, but I don't let go. I can't let go. I strain against them but they do not give. I press my weight into them but they do not give. I cry out but they do not give.
I rest my head against the bars, my hands still wrapped around them. Rubbing my forehead against the stinging steel, the soft plink of water droplets falling can be heard. I look around but see no droplets falling anywhere. There is no leak in the sky. The bars surrounding me are dry.
There it is again.
The irritating plink of water droplets falling to the floor can be heard. Where is it? I need to find it. I feel a surge of urgency. My eyes sweep the space around me. There is no moisture here. Where is it!
There it is again.
The insistent plink of water droplets falling to the floor can be heard. I am frustrated. I can't find it. I rattle the bars that my hands still clasp with a death-grip. Still, the sound is nowhere to be seen.
There it is again.
The soft plink of water droplets falling to the floor can be heard. I sigh. I can't find it. Returning my gaze to the bars, I lean against them.
There it is: a small puddle at my feet; a salty puddle; a lonely puddle; a forgotten puddle; a puddle of tears; my tears.
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