While going through some old files, I found this short story. I wrote this during one of the most difficult times of my island experience when I lived abroad for five years.

I’m not proud of it – not by any means.

I felt beaten up at the time so I was releasing my thoughts on paper, producing this not-so-pleasant piece.

I am not crazy…I can assure you, but my mind was not in a healthy place.

In the air of authenticity as well as truth, I’ve decided to share it, but you really don’t have to read it at all. Really!

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The mirror vanishes.

In moments, my wrists and ankles are clasped to the wall with iron bracelets.

I attempt to block all my thoughts from my head.

It’s too late.

He’s read my mind. He knows my fears, and my relentless torments.

His icy gaze moves from my teeth, to my eyes, to my finger nails, to my groin.

He pulls a weapon from his pocket; a serrated dagger, the blade gleaming with anticipation of what it will do.

I know this weapon too well.

He looks at my chest and places the point of the blade in the centre. He gently taps the steel against my sternum, creating a dim echo.

It’s coming. I’m going to feel this.

He pushes the blade in.

I feel it.

My heart is pierced. He knows the right points.

It goes in, sufficient to keep me between the brink of life and death.

He looks at my fingers. In seconds, the digits on my hands are lined with bamboo shoots under the nails.

One by one, he gently taps them in. Tears stream from my face.

I don’t make a sound.

His gaze drifts to my groin. He doesn’t blink. He pulls out a very thin, very long, very shiny nail. He moves his hand through the air and a hammer fades into his palm.

He looks down at my groin again.

I know what’s coming.

There’s no menacing smile. No raise of the eyebrow. No twitch in the cheek. Just a desire to make sure I suffer as much anguish as is physically possible, without hope of release.

The nail is pushed up against my trouser leg. Right. There.

I blink a few times and grit my teeth.

This is really, really, really, going to hurt.

It’s sharp. So hot and unyielding, it almost feels like an ice cube. Nerves are on fire and they’re flames that refuse to be extinguished.

I bear it.

He looks at my teeth and eyes. He pulls a pair of pliers from thin air.

This has happened before, I reiterate. It won’t be as painful. It won’t be as painful. It won’t be as painful.

But the truth is, it will be. Maybe even more so.

Every time we fight, he’s stronger, but so am I.

BUT SO.AM.I.

The surge is there; like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t care to ask. Just use it.

I break free of the shackles, a bloody mess. I smack the pliers from his hand and push him back.

To be continued…

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