[ The next sound to pierce through the fog of memory is leagues more inhuman. Something that whirs and clicks and punctures and empties, the phantom smell of copper and salt and iron turning thick in the air. A singular table stands illuminated in a room with no features. There's one of the beaten children stomach-down on it, held immobile by those same fists curled like shackles around every limb.
A gun-like mechanism hovers above the child's spine, needle aimed imprecisely and held by gloved fingers smeared in fuel and cigarette ash. ]
You do what you can to not die. That's the same anywhere.
[ More details about the memory materialize out of the haze — children standing in line, himself and the light-haired boy among them. ]
no subject
A gun-like mechanism hovers above the child's spine, needle aimed imprecisely and held by gloved fingers smeared in fuel and cigarette ash. ]
You do what you can to not die. That's the same anywhere.
[ More details about the memory materialize out of the haze — children standing in line, himself and the light-haired boy among them. ]