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writingNasha

The silence of the night justified the doomsday situation. Trashed down with all might he was lying on the floor helpless and awaiting his destiny. He was already visualizing his death.
The cigarette burns still fresh, made his condition bad. Small circles of burnt skin covered his right hand. They made it look like raw meat with small outlets of blood and puss. This wasn't the only thing which bothered his body. Long parallel lines of red swollen skin ran along his back. Every time he rested his back to the wall he sprang back with agony. Every single moment of torture period came alive to his memory. Every nick of his body lived those moments again. Death was again looking as if it opened its arms to comfort him.
Why were they not killing him when they would not hesitate even a single second before slicing his throat?
He cursed his luck. Wished if he had listened to his mother last night. He sat in the corner remembering the conversation he had with his mom. A rather heated one he thought. He had never thought of hurting her feelings but he really wanted to be with his friends. The night for which he waited so long, would be the last night of his life. He felt that misery of losing the people he loved so hard that it brought tears to his eyes.
Drops of tears rolled down his face. It went unnoticed all along to the floor. The floor was draped with patches of blood pool. It stinked like rotten meat of a lamb. A lamb which was slaughtered and thrown in dirt to decompose. This metaphorically described the present state of his body. He never got a hint about when will all this end. When will his eyes close forever and he shall rest in pieces rather than in single piece. He dint know where the hell have they kept him. He had being shifted at regular intervals. But before shifting he was given shots of injection which made his head heavy and induced sleep. The people who shifted him, never said a word about the place which he was taken to neither did the called each other with names. They were all given alphabets to remember as their code. The man who gave him the shots was called X. Every shot received was injected by the man with the code X. He had a firm grip which twisted his right arm to such an extent that it was still hurting.

This my second attempt to write a book....its the prologue of the story which is not completed yet...hope someday i shall the entire book here...

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Writing by

SUMIT SINGH

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