Tortured by Hope and Dreams

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Today, I was beaten by four men. They came in soon after I'd finished breakfast. They just calmly opened the door and walked in like they were housekeeping or something. They beat me until every part of my body felt like it was bruised and in pain. The beating probably didn't even last that long, but every second of it felt like an eternity. Pain upon pain was stacked on top of one another. Each second was more excruciating than the last. They probably left as easily as they came in. I couldn't really tell. Even when they were finished beating me, I was dealing with the searing pain of the knuckles and heels that were bashed against my frame, give or take maybe a knee, another end of a foot, an elbow. When the pain subsided enough for me to come back to my senses, I was lying on the floor crippled and in a pile of my vomit. Some time during that beating, they must have knocked my breakfast out of me. After a few hours, when I had gained enough strength to pick myself off from the floor, I made myself some more food. I only had breakfast at that point in the day. The one that was now decorating the floor in some sort of twisted avant-garde art. I ate a sandwich in that pathetic state. One that tasted of blood, vomit, and maybe a drizzle of tears. I was a pitiful sight, and I felt utterly miserable inside. Later that day, as I was tending to my injuries, I thought maybe they were being considerate by not ambushing me during my breakfast. At least they let me finish it. But then I thought that maybe they did that so that they could make me vomit it all up. So then I had the thought that suffering can be ambiguous at times.

Sometimes their methods of torture are straightforward: beatings, waterboarding, electric shocks. I get injured physically and have to deal with the pain during and after that act, but sometimes I feel that there are more subtle acts of torture in my day-to-day life here. I mean, when I got electric shocks a few days prior, my body tingled and spasmed irregularly for days. But at least that was explainable pain. Some days of torture are clear. Other days, I didn't know what they were doing. Nevertheless, I felt it all.