This is kinda dark, and it includes water-boarding so if you're triggered by it I suggest you don't read this. I hope you all like it. 805Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ80DqQKMlFi
805Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDIqDmVgJKC
It was last night that it happened. I was walking back to camp after turning over my ration cards when I got jumped by two men. They pulled a bag over my head and pulled the draw-string tight against my neck, handcuffing me afterwards. I kick and scream but they keep pulling me away to god-knows-where. They push me down into a car and do it in such haste that they slam the door shut on my ankle before pushing me farther inside. I scream out in pain, cupping my foot in my hands, trying not to cry.
Eventually, without removing the bag from my head, they bring me somewhere and strap me down into what feels like a dentist’s chair. I thrash violently, trying to free myself as they angled my head lower and my feet higher.
I smell salt in the air and hear water sloshing around me. The people in the room laugh.
Sick bastards.
They pour water onto my face and it gets stuck in my nose and in my mouth. I cough and try to breathe out but the liquid burns the inside of me and I wail.
Someone slaps me, hard. “Shut up.” A masculine voice hisses. Several others around me snicker at that.
They pour water on me again. I’m not as ready as I was before and the salt water gets in my eyes and I scream again, earning me a punch to my gut.
After several buckets of water, I hear the clack of heels against the stone floor and a door opening. The sweet scent of cherries floats into the room, but all it does is make me want to vomit.
“I know you thought moving to another country would help, but I already told you,” A woman’s voice says. “I would find you.”
I whimper quietly.
“Goodbye.” She spits, and I can practically envision the smile on her face when she does.
Click.
It’s a gun.
Click.
It’s against my head.
Click.
And now I’m dead.
805Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0Mpj13sORW
~ Christopher Kaye
ns 15.158.61.48da2
