The cell, rather than a room, reeks of the stench springing up from the surroundings beyond its confinement through the single meagre square vent serving as an open window with triple iron bars within. The pervading odour is aggravated in the aftermath of a downpour, reinforced by the relentless trickles from any of the crevices that gradually tend to burgeon into a small flood along its western perimeter, stirring the dried dirt clinging to the floor into turbid paste, as if reviving the wounds to their rampant smell that have already dried up. But all of it has no troublesome effect on me anymore, as I am just a short-term visitor here, awaiting the footsteps of my death.

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