TORTURED

Pitch darkness. All that could be seen, and felt was darkness. The only light was the moonlight coming from a small corner high up the wall with bars installed. Shehryaar felt a lingering pain in the nape of his neck. The place smelled of bloodshed and gore. He was well aware of that putrid smell of blood. Many times, he had taken lives of shivering souls in a similar environment. He found himself tied to a wooden chair with ropes and chains all over him like a precocious animal caught. His mind and eyes foggy. Unable to process anything. And all he was able to remember and recall were those intimate moments with Shearzaad. While she was no where to be seen. He couldn't decipher who had the audacity to put him in this stingy cell. His mind now running thousand miles per hour. The thoughts of him and his wife popping in front of his eyes. And slowly the memories began to sunk in further. The kiss she had placed on his lips, uttering her goodbyes. That knife jabbed in his arm. And he was