• It hurts when I breathe. The air is filled with metallic grime I tell them. They do not listen. I smell it, tainted cuprous, bovine's rotting reek. I wince, the stench clutters my senses. I gasp, it streaks my lungs, sharp pain stabs my chest and I heave blood. They watch as it splutters over my chin, down the sides of my face and over my throat. My hands tied still at my sides, my legs pinned by cement weights, they watch as I drown in my own blood. The burgundy mixture of poison and blood bubbles in my open mouth. Another heave and my abdomen clenches into itself unable to stop forcing out what has already been expelled. They know the air is poisoned. They know I am suffering. They with their dusty skin and paled eyes can only watch, not with abhorrent, but pleasure.