I grit my teeth against the pain even as tears welled in my eyes. I was completely naked. My hands were tied behind my back and a noose around my neck. Just low enough that if I strained on the top of my toes I could just prevent myself from strangling to death. I had been like that for two days while my torturer pulled my fingernails out with pliers and pressed hot metal against my ball sacs. All the while I had to stay on my toes, or die. But I couldn’t die. Not yet. He had left. My torturer had left. It was now or never. I let myself hang. And pressed my feet flat against the hard ground. The rope strained against my neck pressing the life out of me. And just before I passed out, I jumped. Pressed my back against the pillar to which I was tied and threw my legs forward to press them against the wall. Relief as I stayed there. A couple of feet shy of the ground, held up by the strength of my thighs. I began to work the knot on my wrists. Got my hands free and went to my neck when I heard footsteps. I stopped and the resumed with renewed vigor, working the knot that held my neck hostage. The knots loosened against my neck and I was able to come down to my feet. And I kept at it before noticing that the footsteps had stopped. And just as I was about to free myself, two hands took hold of both ends of the rope and pulled, effectively fastening me to the pillar by my neck. My eyes bulged and with them I saw another masked man come towards me with a red hot knife. He stabbed me again and again. The knife cauterizing the wounds it made as it left my body, so I didn’t bleed. I felt my world go black and I died, whether from the stabbing or the strangulation, I don’t know. I walked away from my grave. I never liked visiting. It always made me remember.