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Tied. Wrists bound in my crucificial stance. My bruised face bowed, blood from recent gashes dripping, splashing on my bare feet.

My eyes blacken slowly. My vision clouds. Dizziness rushes my brain. My mind drifts away from the pain, leaving my broken body behind.

A ripping pain across my bare chest snaps me back from nirvana, forces me back into reality, thrusts me into consciousness.

I force my head up to face my demons, my fears, and look into the face that torments me, tortures me, hates me.

She hovers before me, laughing. She spits in my face, her spittle dripping to my dry lips. They soak up her saliva greedily.

Again the whip is drawn back. She smiles, almost like a madman, baring her blackened teeth, exposing her dancing forked tongue.

I see it coming this time. Leather strap pinnacled with tiny metal barbs. It comes at lightning speed but my eyes map its motions perfectly.

The instrument of torture gouges more flesh from my skin leaving a thick trail of blood and meat in my cheek. I scream. I cry.

I beg for her to stop. Plead for my death. Pray for the next blow to land true, pray for the blow to be the one that takes my pain away forever.

She laughs again. She? I gaze into the eyes of my attacker. I see my broken body reflecting in the dark irises. I see me.

The leather whip feel strangely hot in my hand. It feels comfortable. It feels perfect. It craves pain. It craves blood.

I draw the weapon back for the last time. The tip sizzles through the muggy air. I laugh.