I knew I would die.
I mean, how could I not? How could this beyond-fathomable level of pain be possible for one person to endure and he not die?
I wanted to die. I willed- no- begged for the darkness, but it never came. I was very much alive.
The mixture of tears and blood and sweat and mucus intermingled in a pool in the sandy dirt and leaves inches from my mouth. I paid no mind to my dirty, raw knuckles and knees as I dug my fingers deeper into the dry, woodsy earth, trying in vain to alleviate some of the pain.
"Kill me! Please!" I half-growled, half-begged. It was a bit extreme, yes. Plus, I knew he wouldn't. None of them would- they were in on this whole thing. KEEP READING
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