Orria Solo sat motionless in the dank September air of the one roomed bunker. A large, black potato sack was round her head, dotting her consciousness with white spots, surely a sign of oxygen loss. The thoughts inside of her head, of her family, her husband, her brother, mixed and swirled as she gasped for air in the cramped underbelly of the trash bag. The rope around her neck restrained her from breathing enough to sustain her small frame, and was sloppily tied, burning her long, graceful throat like alcohol to embers.
The world had closed around her, and all that remain of her thoughts were floating, bodiless pictures of her family, and a giant space-view map of the Galactic Republic: all the people that would die because she wasn't strong enough. I should have listened, she thought, I wouldn't be here if I listened…
A boomingly silken voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Solo!" Orria's head jerked left and right, searching for the blast, reliving her war days and straightening her back, ready for orders. "Get up!" She did as she was commanded, and instantly regretted it. A force, like three-million tons of steel, rammed her into the wall. Inside her, she felt a snap as she stifled her shriek of terror and soreness. "There are always two. A master," he boomed while he grasped her arm as though he were falling (another snap), "and an apprentice." The floor flew from below her as she poured from her invader's grasp and onto the hard concrete ground, like water from a pitcher.
Two more snaps and she was in his hands again, the pain not yet resonating with her as she was strewn from his grasp once more. This time, the surface was so new to her she gasped. Partly because she knew what may be next and partly because it felt so good to be sprawled out on a warm, soft, feathery bed, rather than crunched in a corner on hard concrete. "You'll do what I say, and if I hear you speak, you get a bullet in your brain."
The mattress beneath her gave way and the sheets crinkled as he crept behind upon her. His callous hands grazed her neck as he tore the rope from Orria's neck. The burn was unimaginable. The rope cropped the skin around her neck from her chin to the base of her throat as he ravaged the knots loose and ripped the sack from her tear bathed cheeks. As Orria gulped and gasped, the air went down her hoarse, dry lungs like a scorching inferno, running up and down the walls of her throat like the flaming horses of the Gods. I wish this would end. This pain! Anything. I'll take anything!, she thought. Anything.