Snaga collapsed onto his bed and cried himself to a point of exhaustion. It had only taken a few days for him to lose his sanity after being imprisoned in his cell again. Even with the comfort of having a bed to lay down on he was still wretchedly miserable.

Snaga couldn't take this anymore; for the past few hours he had been screaming and kicking at the door; begging someone to let him go. He oscillated between being despondent and sobbing to angry and screaming. At one point he was spewing outrageous curses, threatening to kill everyone and burn this place to the ground (all of which he said in orcish language; he didn't want to get punished for anything that came out of his mouth).

He was so bored and sick of being trapped in this small room all day, every day. A few times when Elaenar had come into his cell to feed him he had (quite desperately) tried to make an escape. He tried darting past the elf only to get thrown to the floor like a rag doll (and scolded). In a fit of hysteria, he had smashed the ceramic dish that the elf had served him his food on. Elaenar was livid, but Snaga did it a second time just for the thrill of provoking him. It earned him a thrashing on the back of his legs and the elf neglected to feed him as punishment. Now Snaga was bored and hungry.

Snaga closed his eyes and tried to take several deep breaths to calm himself. He fidgeted with the hem of the loose-fitting shirt he'd been given. It was wonderfully soft; Snaga hadn't known it was possible for clothes to feel so comfortable, but it also felt strange and foreign on his body (and it smelled like Elaenar). How odd it was to be wearing elvish clothes. Something about it didn't feel right. He sometimes marveled at the bizarreness of his circumstance. Who could have guessed he'd be a prisoner of elves?

These other-worldly creatures made him feel deeply, unspeakably uncomfortable. They were beautiful, tall, fair, and intelligent. They were beings on a whole other level from him, and Snaga knew deep in his soul that he was existentially inferior. For the first time, Snaga truly understood his place in the universe.

Snaga had never been really, truly hated before. He had known indifference, sadism, and cruelty from orcs; but this was different. The way that they looked at him, Snaga knew that the elves really, truly hated him. He could see it in the animosity in their eyes; he could feel it in the contemptuous way that they spoke to him and treated him. Snaga wished that he could run away and never look upon another elf ever again for the rest of his life.

Snaga lay on the bed wallowing in these unhappy thoughts, trying to pacify himself with repetitive behavioral ticks like kneading at his shirt and rocking back and forth, but it only lasted so long before he couldn't stand to lie down any longer. He rose up out of bed for another tirade; he screamed and pounded at the door until he felt he was about to pass out. To his immense shock, the door swung open violently in the middle of his pounding and screaming: the towering form of the elvish commander who had tortured him stood in the doorway.

"Silence!" The elf captain roared.

Snaga stumbled backwards and retreated to the far corner.

"Enough of this! Do you understand me?"

Snaga nodded his head but said nothing. The austere, elvish Captain closed the door with a deafening boom that echoed in his hollow cell. The encounter left Snaga quaking for hours in dead silence. Snaga imagined that if he screamed and kicked at the door again, the elvish captain would see fit to come into his cell and burn him with a hot iron. He dreaded the thought of being tormented again just like they'd done to him when he had first been captured. For the next few days Snaga tried to alleviate his anxieties in quieter ways. He sat on his bed and rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself. He counted the bricks on the wall...over and over and over again. This only lasted so long before he started to crack. He was possessed with an insatiable need to take out his frustration on something, anything; he tore the bedding to shreds and ripped his own shirt. When Elaenar saw what he'd done, he was furious. As punishment, the elf took his bed away entirely; mattress, frame, and all. This was the last straw for Snaga.

With all of his sanity gone and nothing left to lose, he resumed his tirade of screaming and wailing and pounding at the door. He didn't even care if the elvish captain tortured him. For the most part his screams were ignored; but Snaga wouldn't let himself be forgotten so easily. He became more and more belligerent with Elaenar, to the point where they were getting into physical fights constantly.

Finally, one day (in the middle of the night) Snaga's incessant tantrums got him the reaction that he so craved. Elaenar burst into his prison cell and screamed at him to shut up. In return, Snaga spat in his face. Elaenar slapped him harshly but at this point the prisoner orc was fully mad and undeterred; he lunged at the elf only to get picked up (as if he weighed nothing at all) and thrown across the room. Elaenar raised his voice so loud to Snaga that he was screaming at him:

"If you don't stop this incessant racket, I swear to God, I'll show you what it really means to be outside of elvish mercy, you screeching little imp! You have no idea how lucky you are to be alive; don't you dare test me and make me regret sparing your miserable life!"

"Why don't you just fucking kill me?!" Snaga shrieked back at him.

But the moment the words came out of his mouth, he instantly regretted it. A fearsome look came into Elaenar's eyes, and he grabbed Snaga by the throat and forced him against the wall, nearly choking him. The elf's powerful grip squeezed Snaga's neck and held him firmly in place. He withdrew a dagger from his belt and brandished it.

"Is that what you want, Snaga? Do you want me to kill you?" He threatened.

In that moment, Snaga was confronted by the paradox within himself of wanting to be dead but not wanting to be killed. He discovered in that moment that, despite his death wish, he was too cowardly to actually submit himself to the deathblow. In his imagination, he experienced the feeling of elvish steel slashing his throat from ear to ear. He imagined choaking on a severed vocal cord and gurgling against rising blood filling his lungs. Snaga whimpered and squirmed against the hand that held fast to his neck. He pried at Elaenar's wrist, but his puny struggling was no match for Elaenar's strength.

"Do you want me to kill you? Huh? Do you?" Elaenar shouted into his face.

Snaga whimpered and started to cry. He couldn't find it in himself to answer yes…or to answer no.

Elaenar let go of his grip around Snaga's throat and he crumpled to the floor, crying and wheezing. Elaenar stormed out, slamming the door behind himself, and Snaga thought that was that, but the elf returned a moment later and gave Snaga back his bedframe and cot.

"Don't ever ask me to kill you ever again." He said, his eyes narrowed and his tone grave, before closing and locking the door behind himself. Snaga whimpered as he crawled on top of the bed. He lay face down and closed his eyes and bit his knuckles. He could still feel the sensation of Elaenar's harsh fingers around his neck. Elaenar's words echoes in his head; he wondered if that was a final warning he'd just been given.