The Ordamity

"No, please! Help me!" The man begged for mercy, for the anonymous thug to stop the pain, the agony. The torture went on for hours, days even, and despite the mans attempted pleas, the pain was relentless, and didn't stop, even for a second.

After what seemed like months, but was probably merely weeks, the man felt as if he was going to starve to death. He was weak, with undernourishment and exhaustion- clearly on the brink of death. On the toughest day, when the man was praying for death, some food was slid into the room. When it were slid through, a sliver of light escaped through big oak door, revealing his surroundings to him for the first time. There weren't any large, medieval torture devices, no axes, pikes or spears piled up in the corner of the room, no bloodstains splattered on the floor. It was nothing like the man expected.

The room was small and clean- no bigger than a box room, really. It had a white, marble floor with crisp, white walls. There were no other items of furniture, or decorations. The only remotely decorational thing in the room was a window, at the top of the walls, that was blacked out, so no light could tunnel through.

Once the man had inspected the room, he moved on to the food that would probably be his sustenance for the next couple of weeks. It wasn't anything remotely nice. A bowl of thick gruel and a bottle of water, that looked and tasted stale. It wasn't much, but it was something to eat, to help him survive life, and keep on going through this seemingly eternal abyss of misery. Of course, he knew why he had been given this meager selection of food, and not just left to die. His capturers wanted him alive, they wanted him to be kept alive for some sick, twisted reason.