A Pic Story

The chains that bind me grow stronger every day. There comes a time when I can no longer feel my own body beneath their weight. I can sense movement only because I hear metal grating against metal. When I move, though, I also know that the gears turn to tighten their hold on me.

There is an unbearable itch in my foot that demands attention. Soon, though, if I give into the itch, the chains will squeeze the life out of me. The sweet release would be instant in that if my life should end, the itch would disappear with it.

I am no longer afraid. I've been held captive too long for fear to matter. I've resigned myself to the final grinding of the gears and welcome that final dreamless sleep that has eluded me until now. The chains have made impossible pillows for my aching body. My flesh is raw and infested with rust. And, that itch persists.

It is time.