He screamed out, muscular arms quaking from the pain. Another
vicious hook lanced into his side, ripping through flesh and bone. he
ropes were pulled tight again, and he felt the searing pain of ribs
snapping. He had ceased to notice anything but the pain. He didn't even
know how he had got here, why this was happening, who was doing this to
him. It didn't matter -- the pain superceeded everything. As the blood
flowed freely down his broken body, he found that he could not hear his
screams, but he knew he was still crying out in pain. He was going to
die. He did not care. It would be an end to the pain -- but there was
something else he had to do... He could not die yet... And then the pain
of his body being torn even further apart took even that thought from
him. He wanted to die. He wanted nothing more than that. There was
something, but he was lost in a sea of pain. The torture would never end
-- he would never get rest -- he would never be at peace again. That was
what scared him the most. Pain did not matter -- it was so constant that
his mind had started to adapt, even with the seemingly random increasing
of the pain at certain intervals. He wanted peace. He wanted rest. And
he didn't know if he ever would get it. They were masterful, and he was
resillient -- his body fought death against his will, and his torturers
tried to bring him as close to death as possible without actually
killing him, hoping to prolong his pain. Thinking was futile. Doing
anything was futile. All he knew was pain. The peace would never come.
He would be in pain forever. He felt the pain acutely, he screamed, and
he heard.
   
           -- Bem Ajani Jones-Bey  2.15.99