"Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever." –Lance Armstrong
The night is filled with my screaming. Every time the knife punctures my skin, excruciating pain fills my veins. Every wail that escapes my lips, every time his hand smacks the side of my head I'm left hazy. Finally he casts me aside, grabs my neck and shoves my head into the ground. A giant centipede, crawls over my arms. But when I try screaming, I only feel pain where my heart is.
There isn't enough air in the world.
Blood runs through my eyes and shadows dance against the flames of fire. I don't know who he is, but the man keeps whispering something about my mother. The grip loosens around my swollen throat, and I can't get enough oxygen into my lungs. The only thing I see is blood, in my eyes, washed over my clothes, seeping from the wounds in my stomach and forehead, I taste it flowing from my nose.
He makes a noose out of rope, the man with the long beard, and dangles it in front of my eyes. I whimper softly, with tears streaming down my face as he touches my cheek very delicately. "Prove to me your life, girl." He says slowly. There are bats fluttering everywhere, crashing into everything, filling the night sky. Then the words sink in.
I try and free myself from his grip, but he slaps the side of my face. I skid away a few feet, and my stomach seems to explode in agony. Helpless, I begin to sob and wail. He walks over quickly, and kicks my shoulders, my head, punches my stomach. My stomach. Blood is everywhere and the knife wounds feel as if the blade was still in my frozen body. I can hear my heart beat in my ears. When he kicks the side of my head, I begin jerking. When he kicks my cheek, I hear the creak of my jaw and a tooth wriggles free. I'm drowning in my own blood and fear.
A red mark burns as powerful as any grease spill against my skin. The burning, as if fire is crawling over my face, causes uncontrollable screaming. It's odd, I can almost hear the sizzle of burning flesh and smell the acrid stench of burnt rubber. His sandals reek of this and blood as they crunch my ribs. I begin to thrash around as he advances on me again, through a haze of opiates he appears to be wearing a dress, but everything in my head silences as he slips my neck into the noose.
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