His hand cuffed to the wall. His bare torso shows the mark of inexperienced torture. Torn skin. Broken ribs. His head. Its like he’s looking at me. His legs have long since given up. Withered away below him. Starting to separate at the waist. And yet his chest moves. The wonder of breath. His chest still moves. Against all logic. He lives. Three months now. Three months they’ve kept him here. He refuses to talk. He refuses to die. The science of torture is not vast. There is only so much you can do before a person dies. Everything has been done to him already. A human oddity. He scares me. Looks like he could jump up any minute and strangle me. He does not speak. Just looks at me. Planning his revenge. Waiting for his time. I motion the constables to free him. Help him till the doctors get here. He doesn’t say a word. I can only pity the fools who tied him up here.
1 comment:
I'm almost afraid of painting something that has to live up to this.
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