ooc: november prompts
[oo9] five senses: countrycide
These people--no, these monsters, these cannibals, can he truly think of them as people anymore?--have him on the floor, handcuffed while they beat him. He struggles toward unconsciousness, but every time he comes close, she's there to slap him back to the gory reality of the house. It reeks with the blood and gore and the fear of those who have come before him, the ones who have died here, and he knows in no uncertain terms that he'll be the next. The next thing on the menu--he can hardly think of it, or he might retch against the bloody gag in his mouth. He wonders, wildly, if choking would be a more dignified death than being bled out, but soon he can't think of anything anymore. He can't even try to focus his blurry eyes, to see the woman's ruthless face, or to hear what she's saying past the pounding of his own pulse. There's nothing but pain, searing through his entire body, and when they put the bag over his head, he can't help but know that this is it. The sum of his existence, suddenly worth nothing more than a few pounds of meat. This time, when he reaches for the blissful dark, it takes him.