More Torture: Fiona
Pairs of burns marks now littered most of my naked body. The cattle prod, at least I thinks that what he had been using, tended to prefer my midsection. That might have caused a more vomit like reaction from me, if I wasn’t already cramping and withering away in pain from the lack of food I’d had, which was zero, since I’d woken up in here.
On any normal day, I would have bitten his hand off if he poked me with that thing the first time. My current position was preventing this, which was no longer the most painful part of me right now. Turns out I’d been wrong, the starvation and sight deprivation were only a warm up for a lovely torture session in which an interrogator spent his free time demanding to know if I knew the whereabouts of any more of my kind.
My responses weren’t exactly original after the fifth time he shocked me, but at least I was still confident in the knowledge he had yet to get anything out of me. As far as I knew they didn’t even know my last name, so they couldn’t even go after my parents. How long these little torture sessions lasted I would never have full knowledge of.
