sundayphotofiction

I awoke still hogtied in that grey concrete room, to the putrid smell of blood, vomit, and feces. How long had it been? I had lost count. All that I knew was that I was on fire. My stomach cramped, my throat burnt, my skin burnt, even my eyeballs hurt. My lips were cracked and dry, and my tongue like sandpaper. Someone had skinned me and left me under the scorching sun. My entire body was parched, my head throbbed and it hurt even to breathe. It was a thirst like I’d never known and all I could think of was finding something to quench it with.

Suddenly the door opened and someone walked in; a different man, another tormentor. He placed a glass of water down upon the table.

The entire world blanked out and all my senses, my sight, my smell, my mind, were singularly focused on that one glass of liquid.

GIVE. ME. NOW.

I knew I was screaming. I couldn’t hear myself do so but I could feel my organs ripping apart as I screamed.

“Just tell me what I want to know and this glass is yours,” he smirked.

 

Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.
– Shakespeare (The Tempest)

Written for The Sunday Photo Fiction for a photo by A Mixed Bag

 

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13 thoughts on “The Tempest

  1. Wow what an awful situation. Honestly unless a lot of other people are going to die if he fesses up, he should just fess up. Drink the water etc… They may kill him but they probably won’t torture him anymore. A quick death is something.

    Liked by 1 person

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