Yaay.

I’m stuck it seems. Nothing horrible. Hardly harsh. Just bothersome, like a Chinese water-torture device. Struck with infinite small blows. Weakened in one spot. The gentlest touch can strike me down. Only by his hand. No one strikes me like him.

My torturer is diligent, and my skin is blistered.

All I can do is yell. But even those are useless.

Quiet. That’s what I must remain. The torturer enjoys your pain. He cherishes each moment you squirm. Every futile move makes him want to stop you even more.

When escape is futile, only acceptance works.

Your silence burns. Murder those sons of bitches with your still. Keep calm. Collected. Never lose composure. Maintain vigilance. When the time is right.

The bastard will never see it coming. To him you become a set piece. A constant. A right. You will no longer bare value.

Then you strike with a yell so loud it’ll shatter even you. And when you are broken to pieces your chains can no longer hold you.

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