Death Doesn't Want Me
Part I- Broken
The broken windows allow only a small amount of light to filter through. The light they allowed shone too high up to bring any brightness to the darkness surrounding me. The floor is damp, the air full of the stench of blood and dust. I am strapped to the ground, gasping crudely for air. They have taken my auto-mail prosthetics but the metal ports still remained on my useless stumps. I gasp. I feel the heat mounting. Soon the coals beneath me will begin to burn my already raw back. Yet, that is the least of my pain, for the metal ports will rapidly heat until they turn white, searing my already scarred skin.
The form of torture would change weekly as they tried in vain to find new, more effective approaches. Yet they would always resort to this method, for it was the most effective yet. The burning of my skin by the metal was ten times the pain of my nerves being attached to auto-mail, no, it was twenty times the pain of the auto-mail surgery, no not even that. The pain was so unbearable it almost countered that of which I had felt when I thought I had lost my little brother forever.
I clenched my teeth together, determined not to allow any of my screams to escape. The skin of my back is too burnt to feel any pain. Though, now the metal ports begin to burn white.
I began to scream, an in-human scream of despair that soon fades into dying moans. Though the pain, no longer fazes me. The pain means I am closer to dying. I beg for death to come, and come soon. For, they had already broken me. I desire to die, for there was no way I deserve to live after what they have forced me to do.
Soon, the alchemists in the white coats return to unstrap me and drag me back to the darkness of my solitary prison. Tomorrow they will force me to lie on my stomach, my face being charred by the unforgiving heat of the coals. I can feel the burnt skin flake off as my back is rubbed raw once again by the crude floor. We arrive at my cell and they throw me in against the wall with such force that I hit my head and soon began to choke up blood.
I am left with nothing but my bloody, misshapen body and the dredged up memories of my past life. Of the promise I had never fulfilled to my little brother. Of the girl I had never told my feelings to, of the girl who had probably cried over me. I welcome death, but know they won't allow it to come.