[ CW ] Write a horror story with no gore or death , not even implied .

Five hundred and sixty five. Five hundred and sixty six. Five hundred and sixty seven. One year and two hundred and eleven days. I count the tallies again, that's all I can do in here. The only light comes from a red bulb above me, and the nearly six hundred tally marks carved into the stone seem to glimmer in the ruby glow of it. 
 
 
 They told me one year. One year in solitary and I'd be free. But the guards stopped coming. I ca n't even hear the other prisoners anymore, their echoing voices could never make it through the solid rock that surrounds me, but now I no longer catch the edges of their conversations when the doors open for guards. But there are no guards any longer. I doubt there are other prisoners. 
 
 A buzzer goes off and food and water drops into their respective containers. I out another tally on the wall. And start counting. 
 
 
 I ca n't remember where I left off, so I walk to one end of the room- where my masterpiece begins- and start counting. Again, and again, I count it. And wonder when I can stop.
