Three hundred and seventy two days. Or has it been more? - He thought to himself.

The first 5 days were easier to remember. It started getting tougher after that with his mind playing mystical, cruel tricks on him. He decided to go the oldfashioned Crusoe way, but there was hardly any light for him to get a sense of direction. For all he knew, he was not the first one to have been there there might be galaxies of notches on that damp wall. Then it came, his daily bread, the bright light that still kept him on the verge of sanity. He was beginning to think that the punishment was probably intended to be exactly that to be kept on the verge and worse, exhausting one to the point that he felt he d rather lose it than endure it any longer.