Senseless violence must always be tragic.

I came to in a chair, my arms bound behind. My legs were spread; two ropes ran around them then to the rope on my wrists keeping them apart.

From the fog that clouded my memory and the sensation that my brain was being pecked at by a murder of crows I could tell I'd been drugged.

I heard a noise some feet away and tried to speak. That is when I noticed the tape sealing my mouth. Drugs be damned, my heart raced wildly.

From the shadows came a voice. "The sedative will wear off soon, then we can begin." I struggled violently but became nauseous, so I ceased.

My mind began to clear and I made a list of enemies, anyone who would want to hurt me. But did that matter if I couldn't escape? Not at all.

I tried to take stock of my surroundings, but the light was so low that I could've barely seen my hands had I been able to lift them at all.

"It's important for the sedative to be out of your system completely if you are to truly feel the pain you are about to receive." Footsteps.

Those were the last words he said. A moment later I felt my side open up. I bucked in the chair, but no use. A small blade tore at my cheek.

I bore several small cuts and felt blood run over my skin. I began to sweat, and could feel the tape on my mouth loosen, liberating my lips.

The last sound I heard? The change of instruments, a scratching of metal. My chest split, a hand around my heart, I lost my sight and slept.