THE ROOM OF TORTURE-
                            Christopher Spetland
Something brushed up against my foot; for fear of setting off the contraption I held still.
I was in complete darkness except for a lone observation window, where no doubt my tormentor was ?observing?. There was another source of light, but not the light that would make sight easier, it was the type of light that anchors your soul in despair, the constant red blink of a motion detector. One that was attached to a very large circuit board, the wires snaking through the walls, popping out in various places, these wires attached to cruel torture devices. If I moved Id set them off, no doubt.
I was in check, I could make no move against my tormentors, but how long would I stay here? How long would I stay seated in this chair, not chained or held down by anything but my urge to live a bit longer? When would starvation take over? When would the disease of madness destroy my mind?
My foot itched where the creature had touched my heel, attempting to climb up my pant leg and eat my insides. How would it do it? Would it burrow into my skin and devour me inside out, or just savagely ravage my corpse with its fangs? I could almost hear my tormentor laugh I could almost hear the creatures drool drip to the floor tiles. I screamed and leaped up, unable to bare this horrid existence any longer; and I saw the light. The door opened quickly, a wild barbarian women stepped in, weapons of mass destruction in hand. Her torture methods had failed to activate and now she was coming to do the work herself. ?Chris what are you doing in the closet? And why are you screaming?? I turned to eye the monster face to face; I couldn?t let him sneak me. ?Meow!? was the only reply. I fell to my knees and cried out: ?Please I beg you don?t eat me!? my sister smacked me on the back of my head. ?You have an over active imagination.? I turned to look at her as she left the room.
?A what??