Ficly about torture. Tried to research what it’s like to be water-boarded. This is based off that.

From the back of the van, under the dark hood pulled over my face, I hear them yelling to each other. The tires kick up gravel and sand. A falling building in the distance. I don’t understand what they’re saying. My camera is missing. I must have dropped it while I was running.

Ed is missing. He wasn’t put in the van with me.

We come to a violent stop and I slide forward, rolling around until I hit the back of the front seat, knocking against what I imagine is the metal mesh separating the driver and passenger from the rear. There is a lot of yelling as they get out. They leave their doors open; more people are running towards the van. Someone opens the back door, the handle clicks.

Someone yanks on my shoulders and pulls me out. I can’t believe this is happening. I try kicking as my feet are lifted, screaming, anything. No one seems to speak my language. Two men wrestle me into a building. The explosions continue outside far off in the distance, the vibrations causing Sheetrock to crumble and fall from the ceiling audibly in small dusty chunks.

Still blind. I want them to get off me, but when I manage to get my feet out of the man’s grasp for a moment, someone hits me across the face and my shoes are removed. The floor is wet. Cold. I hear Ed in some corner of the room, coughing and gagging. My scream is lost in his, and I’m thrown on an inclined table or ramp or something. They’re tying me down; the blood flows to my head. Someone holds me in place while I’m harnessed in, my feet higher than my head. I turn my head frantically, just trying to look at or see something. The hood obscures all. Someone grabs my temples and straightens my head while wrapping several thick damp cloths around it. I can barely breathe.

They’re filling up a bucket to my right. The heavy stream of water bouncing around on the steel bottom of the bucket, then quietly reaching the top. It sloshes over the edge as it’s lifted and approaches me.

Then a moment of silence. Cool water drips over my ears, I hold my breath. It feels like hours before the first drops fall through the heavy towels on my face, through the hood. A steady stream drips up towards my nose, down the back of my throat. Don’t breathe. Don’t let them win. They told you about this, part of job training. “Rescue is always on the way.”

I don’t think rescue knows I’m gone yet. Need to breathe. Someone punches me in the gut and I gasp, but the wet towels are sucked into my face, arresting the air flow. Adrenaline surges through oxygen-less veins. My heart stutters, and then the cloths are ripped off. The hood too. Air. Some faces, blurry, my eyes saturated with water. I blink. Bright light over head. Dirty brown room. Air.

Just enough to keep me alive for now. The hood goes back on.

Originally on Ficly:

Part One: http://ficly.com/stories/17041

Part Two: http://ficly.com/stories/17042

Part Three: http://ficly.com/stories/17043