by M M Johns

Created on: November 12, 2009   Last Updated: November 30, 2009

The air inside the small room was hot enough to burn the lungs, stale and rank. There were three odours which were prevalent. Stale urine, sweat and fear. Especailly fear. The fear assailed every bodily sense and lingered as menacing and oppressive as the heat. A small barred window was set high on the wall and the sunlight fought a losing battle to penetrate the dust and grime which coated the pane, its efforts paled by the harsh flourescent light flickering on the ceiling.

The once white walls were streaked with dirt and darker, ominous streaks of dried blood. The floor was concrete, cool to the touch of bare feet. A grubby and scarred desk and two chairs were placed in one corner of the room and a long trestle table occupied most of the space in the centre.

It was on this trestle table that a prisoner lay spreadeagled, face down. His pale skin a stark contrast to the shining ebony torsos of the two men who stood either side of his head. They were shirtless and the sweat gleamed and glistened in the light as it ran down their chests in rivulets, eventually being soaked up in the waistband of their trousers. The prisoner on the table wore only a pair of, what had originally been, kahki shorts, stained with blood, urine and excrement. His back, his legs and the soles of his feet bore old and newer scars of a beating. The further his arms were stretched to secure him to the table the more the newer scars opened up and started oozing a mixture of blood and pus from infections which were taking hold.

The prisoner groaned in pain as his left arm was secured. It was ignored by the two men as they secured his hands in straps on the side of the table. It was obvious from the bone protruding through the skin that at least one of the bones in his forarm had been broken at some point. Remarkably his face was relatively untouched but it was hard to tell, hidden as it was by the dirt which caked his features. Once he had been secured by his hands and feet the two stepped to the chairs and sat down to share a cigarette, quietly talking.

The prisoner on the table tried to slide up wards to ease the pressure on his broken arm but only managed to move half an inch. He knew what was coming and dreaded the awful pain, taking some solace from the fact, based on his experience over the last months, that the worst of the pain only lasted a few minutes before it eased and a numbness engulfed his body. He also knew that they were experts in prolonging the agony if he showed signs

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