( Mini Short Story )

        A suppressed whimper escaped his swollen lips, through the rag bound around his mouth, as the stench of blood only urged the need to vomit. In the darkness of the blindfold his most keen sense was robbed from him. The dirt was moist underneath his bare feet and his shoulders have been long past numb as both arms were chained above his body.

        Thoughts of nearing death were forever fresh on the mind. The cold metal binding his wrists cut off the circulation making even more discomfort.

        A loud creak abrupted the craze driven silence. Heavy footsteps entered in and the string of a single lightbulb was pulled.

        "How'd you sleep, boy?" The deep voice of the man sounded as he walked to the body hung by the chains pulling off the blind fold.

        The young man of his late teens squinted at the oncoming light that strained his eyes who had grown fond of the darkness. He pulled at the chains that rattled above him, his eyes could only make out the silhouetted figure who rummaged through old tools on the workbench. Any words he tried to speak were muffled by the rag that gagged him.

        "I was always fascinated by how the body heals. How long some take to respond, to even feel pain.... Ah, here we are." The figure of the man turned back to face the boy with a fire iron held loosely in his grip.

        The boy eyed the short metal rigid rod trying to pull back, though the chains forbid him to move. His breathing became provoked as the man held the metal pointed tip underneath his chin tilting his gagged head upward in the light to examine him.

        "Once I'm through with you, boy, you'll do nicely." The man pulled the tip from under his chin only to trail it down his bare dirt and blood smothered lean built torso.

        As the tip made it's way down it sliced a thin line open through the skin. The boy shook his head as more muffled pleads tried to come out unsuccessfully.

        "Relax—"

        His body started to thrash in an attempt to pull away, even if it was only inches. He knew what was going to happen. He knew there was going to be pain– his thoughts were cut off as one of the mans hands ripped his head back, the hand fisted into his short cut hair. His lungs heavily heaved in anticipation of the unknown.

        "Now that wasn't a good boy," the man's breath growled low into his ear as the fire irons metal tip slowly proceeded to cut into the flesh of his lower abdomen near his navel.

        The man's grip tightened even more in the boys hair as the bladed tip thrusted itself deeper. Blood welled up around the wound and started to lazily travel down the dirtied skin, pooling at the brim of his once clean jeans.

        "Do you feel that pain?" The mans voice was only inches from his ears, "Do you?" The man leaned his weight onto the rods handle sending the tip protruding through the back, completely cut through the torso.

        Not even the gag could stifle the scream of pain that left his lips echoing out into the dull light melting into darkness.