It doesn’t make much of a difference which side of the bars you’re on – you still feel the heat.
My eyes peer out from my personal shadow; the guard leaning against the wall is relaxed. He is slowly melting. The whole place sweats, including the walls. I remember some moaning, some time ago, which suddenly stopped. Not violently. The sound ceased to matter; the body decided that it was not in its best interest.
Oh, the heat.
My mouth hangs open. I have to breathe in big gulps as the air is too thick to squeeze through my nose. My breaths don’t come consciously, or even noticeably – it moves like an eddy in a bit of current. I have not lost my resolve, unlike those who lie amongst their fluids on the rock. The plate, hastily emptied, is free of crumbs.
A crinkle of metal as a guard falls slightly and rights himself. The tip of my mouth turns up only slightly as he recieves an eye from his superior. The ceremonial armour may as well be worn by me or any other of the guests with my fate.
Water drips slowly into a puddle, taunting someone to stop it, but no one does.