Hopefully this isn't too graphic. Promise there won't be much more of this!

It's so quiet; I can almost hear my heart beating. It brings me no comfort, because at this point- I wish I was dead. What did this man want with me? What supreme being was he talking about? All I know is that he is senseless and I am terrified, mortified if you will, that I will never see anything outside of these grubby walls.

It takes a few moments, but the pain of my hand begins to set in full force. At this point, I am glad that my hands are behind me, because I would not be able to look at the damage he has inflicted on me. Will I be able to paint again? Will I even be able to sign my name? Why has he done this? The same questions run through my mind over and over again.

I try, just slightly, to move my hand. It sends shockwaves up my arm and even to my neck. I feel no connectivity, just pain. I know that if I am not saved soon, my hand could send me into shock or become toxic with infection-it might kill me before he does. Again, I am glad I can't see it.

Hours seem to have passed and still no sign of this freak. I wonder if he watches me, if he gets off on seeing the torture and anguish from a distance? I try to shift my weight a bit since my legs and back are becoming numb from sitting on such a hard surface for so long. How many women have been in the same spot I have? How many of their tears have soaked in the grout of this locker room? Tear after tear of my own begin to fall again. I try with all of my might to keep this from happening, but nothing helps. The gash on my face burns like a hot iron. This only makes me cry harder.

Then I hear something. Footsteps. Footsteps and the sound of something dragging along the tile. What is that?

"Oh please," I moan to myself, "please leave me alone."

The creep comes up behind me and I brace myself for the worst. He bends down and begins to touch my hair. I can hear him sniffing it and rubbing his face in it. Shivers activate throughout my body and suddenly he yanks my head back. He begins to place his cheek up against mine. Rubbing his nose on me like this was a time of affection. He then throws my blue canvas bag into my lap. I am shocked to see it, and even manage a quick smile-then confusion sets in.

"Wha…what is this for?"

"Paint. Color. Draw. Do something. Show me that you understand that your gift if not for the glory of yourself-and I will let you go."

This guy is such a whack-job. I have no idea what am I going to draw or even how. My hand hurts so bad it's begin to make me nauseous. I know that the infection is beginning to set in.

He begins to take the ties off of my hands when I let out another scream. Just the nudge of my hand cripples my whole body. When I bring my arms around to my front, I can see the damage is far beyond anything I had pictured. There, in my lap, lay the hand that brought me so much happiness. I never needed special tools to create, just my hands. It was about three times its normal size with an almost greenish black hue. When I lifted it, I tried not to scream, but I was mortified at how my fingers were so mangled and twisted in different directions. I could see the infection starting to move up my arm. That can't be good.

"DO SOMETHING!" He yelled.

I am alarmed and begin to reach into my bag with my right hand. I pull out my sketch book and some pastels. They will be easier to hold with my non-dominate hand. I am pretty confident that I can make something that looks like art without him knowing it's just a load of crap.

I start to swirl on the page different shades of blues and greens. He starts to scream at me.

"NO! NO! NO! You're not doing it right!" The man launches himself into a high speed pace back and forth. "I said make something to show that you are no longer selfish!"

"I'm not being selfish, I promise," I sniffle out, "What would you like me to draw?"

The rage in him is so evident right now, I brace for whatever is about to come next.

He grabs me by my hair and proceeds to drag me across the floor. My body is so frail from lack of water and the infection in my hand I can't even lift a single limb to fight back. Then I see it, the long shaft of silver that he holds in his hand. It's a bat. I try to scream but nothing comes out. I am in full panic mode and there is no going back.

He drags me to where the empty pool is. I can still see dirty lounge chairs and deserted tables that look they have been abandoned for years. As my cheek lay across the concrete I can hear her voice. My mom. She is singing one of our favorites.

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine

I sob quietly to myself, wanting to hold on to this moment. I am shaken out of it with a tremendous blow to my side. How much more can my body withstand before it finally gives up? I look up to him, barely able to move, when I see the more horrifying thing to date-he begins to unbuckle his belt. So I begin to sing-

Little one when you play
Don't you mind what you say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear, baby of mine