Concessions

When his legs cramped, all he could do was shift them to the side, hope to feel the blood rush through, a brief warm sensation, his feet coming back to life.  Half an hour later he'd repeat the process in the other direction, bound inside his tiny invisible box, out of sight from the world, alive for thirty minutes more.

He checked his watch compulsively, kept count of the hours with his fingers, up one hand, down the other. He hadn't missed one, hadn't slept the whole time. Thirty-five...