9 Levels Below

"Hey! Stop! Let go of my arms!" I yelled, struggling against the big burly guards. The ginger one twisted my arm to shut me up and the stinky one stepped away and opened a prison cell, aiming a large, ornate gun at the wall. They threw me in and locked the doors behind me, and I banged my fists painfully against the bars. "Let me go! Let me out! Please let me out!"
Someone laughed, the voice coming from the corner. I turned, scared.
"Is there someone else in here?"
"I never thought I would get a cell mate." Came a low, creaky voice. He sounded like bed springs but much more menacing. He had an accent. British, I think
"Why am I here? Why have they locked me up? I haven't done anything wrong!"
The other man snorted a laugh. "Oh contraire, nobody is such an angel that never once in their pitiable lives have they done any wrong. Have you not even ever uttered a curse or rude speech, or so much as raised a hand to another person, or 'borrowed' without first asking?"
"But why am I in prison?"
There was silence. It was cold and I was hugging myself for warmth. I was a little overweight, and dressed in a smart suit, brown in colour.
"I do not know. What is your name, flower child?"
"Flower child?"
I saw a movement in the darkness as the other man nodded. "We are all flowers in this great garden of life!" He proclaimed loudly, spreading his arms. Through the darkness I heard vicious shouts and threats, aimed towards this strange man.
"How long have you been here?"
"I was born here." He replied evenly. "My mother was a prisoner, a sweet woman, smelled of rose and oranges and hope. She was beautiful, but scared of me, because I look like my father, and my mother never wanted to sleep with my father."
I nodded, understanding. This man spoke strangely. "I'm Stoddard." I told him finally. "What's your name?"
He shrugged. "Not important. I've never had an identity outside of this place. I am a prisoner for life, cursed to grow old and disgusting in this foul cesspool."
"Does anyone know why we're here?"
The man pulled himself forward. He had dark hair and a pale face, and eyes sunk deep into his skull that had very little light to reflect. There was a milky quality to one of them, and I believe he may have been blind. I could see cataracts, which really in this day and age would have been of no bother. He was very tall, unnaturally so, and very, very thin. It looked like he had not eaten for a long while.
"I barely know anything. I know the name my mother gave me, and I know the texture of the bars and the cold, wet ground, and the slop they give us once a day with as much nutrients as we need, but it is tasteless and bland, and the texture makes one sick. I know what it is to hear and feel and smell, and that once someone comes in, they never go back out. We are held back here, lost to hell, stuck in limbo...what is the world outside like? Is it akin to anything in here?"
I was kind of scared of this guy. He was creepy, and right now he had his hand to his mouth and nose, taking deep breaths to smell the musty mould on his fingertips. His hair looked to have never been cut. Long and unruly, and the same went for his nails. He was wearing women's clothing. I assumed, him being alone and never seeing the sunlight, that they were his mother's clothes once.
"What is it?" I asked. "The name your mother gave you."
"Lancelot." He rasped, nails gouging at the filth set into the tiles. "Is the sun as beautiful as they say it is? Mother used to tell tales about the sun. This bright, shining gold in the sky, that warmed body and soul. I would love to see it, to see if it lives up to legend. It only comes out when the sky is happy."
I gave him a strange look. "Listen Lancey..."
"Is the sky happy today? I never know. Was the sky happy when they took you or sad to be losing a curious citizen?"
"What is this place?" I yelled, eager both for Lancelot to shut up and to get answers. He seemed taken aback and looked around in fear.
"This is where the people that talk go. People who ask too many questions or get too close to the truth, they come here."
Well, the problem was Lancey was clearly off his rocker, so I wasn't sure how reliable he was. I didn't believe him. It sounded like some crazy conspiracy theory.
"And what else?" I asked, humouring him.
"And they come in the night to take you from your home."
"Why?"
"Because they like taking victims for the picking. The guards like to have fun with us." He looked up and I believe he may have smiled. "let the darkness embrace you. It is a very loving thing, with an ice cold touch, that envelopes you entirely."
I couldn't suppress a shudder. "Do you like the darkness?"
"It is what I am used to."
"But do you like it?"
"And in the darkness, you cannot see the people approaching, with malice in their hearts. You can't see the people! You can't see them or the sharp, pointy things they hold in locked fists!" He broke down crying, and I sat there, feeling awkward, as more shouts for Lancelot to shut up rose through the dim light. That was when I made either the biggest mistake of my life or the best friend.
"Leave him alone, you vultures!" I screamed, silencing the prison. With those words, I sided myself with Lancelot for the rest of my days, which would either be a disaster or something amazing, as soon I would find how he really was.