FIVE SENSES

Somehow, the word 'chain' really seemed to get my creative juices flowing. This kind of worries me.

WOW: Chain. Hell is many things, but above all it is an assault on the senses.

Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did, blah blah

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The nauseating odour of sulphur and ammonia, carried on a pall of choking black smoke, stifling and suffocating him.

The coppery flavour of blood mingling with salty tears, clogging his parched, burning throat.

The desolate keening of his tortured cries set against a dissonant knell of rattling chains.

The harrowing sight of Alastair's creativity; of his torn, ruined flesh hanging off the bloodied lattice of ivory-pale ribs.

The agony of torture anaesthetised by Sam's comforting touch as he gently wakes his sobbing brother from his nightmare.

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Both brothers instinctively knew the soothing hug would never be discussed. Ever.

That was the sixth sense.

xxxxx

end