The first time it happened, I thought it was pain.
It was a sharp wound to my soft flesh, with no callouses or scars to dampen the blow even a little bit. It went straight through me and came out the other side. Underneath layers and layers of startled agony, I could dimly feel my precious lifeblood seeping out of me. I screamed, and then I screamed again. I couldn't stop screaming. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The second time it happened, I thought it was pain.
The wound was not yet healed when it was broken again. The torture was beyond my ability to reconcile. In my mind, I couldn't fathom the reopening of an already tormented wound. When the pain lanced through me again for the second time, I screamed, and then I screamed again. I couldn't stopped screaming. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The third time it happened, I thought it was pain.
There were no real scars, just a horrible mess where I once had been. It hadn't yet begun to heal, and my mind was as yet unable to consider anything but the stark agony of my situation. The third time there was no violent attacking, just a soft touch to my wound. I screamed, and then I screamed again. Just a touch was all it took, but it wasn't enough. There was another touch, another, and another, gentle and almost loving, all with the same pressure and all in the same place. It continued, and I screamed until my throat was hoarse and dry, and my whole body trembled. It would have been a mercy to continue until I passed out, but instead it ended, and I was left alone and wide awake. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The fourth time it happened, I knew what pain was.
Just a look and I screamed. I saw that look and knew what was coming. It was impossible to imagine a time when I hadn't been in such excruciating pain that I could no longer reason. Instinct was my only master, and when I saw you with that look in your eyes, the raised hand only hovering over my wound, I screamed, and then I screamed again. It didn't stop, and so here I lay, watching you with bloodshot eyes, screaming because this time, I know you'll teach me again what pain is.
It was a sharp wound to my soft flesh, with no callouses or scars to dampen the blow even a little bit. It went straight through me and came out the other side. Underneath layers and layers of startled agony, I could dimly feel my precious lifeblood seeping out of me. I screamed, and then I screamed again. I couldn't stop screaming. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The second time it happened, I thought it was pain.
The wound was not yet healed when it was broken again. The torture was beyond my ability to reconcile. In my mind, I couldn't fathom the reopening of an already tormented wound. When the pain lanced through me again for the second time, I screamed, and then I screamed again. I couldn't stopped screaming. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The third time it happened, I thought it was pain.
There were no real scars, just a horrible mess where I once had been. It hadn't yet begun to heal, and my mind was as yet unable to consider anything but the stark agony of my situation. The third time there was no violent attacking, just a soft touch to my wound. I screamed, and then I screamed again. Just a touch was all it took, but it wasn't enough. There was another touch, another, and another, gentle and almost loving, all with the same pressure and all in the same place. It continued, and I screamed until my throat was hoarse and dry, and my whole body trembled. It would have been a mercy to continue until I passed out, but instead it ended, and I was left alone and wide awake. When it stopped, all I could do was lay there shaking and hug my wounded body until I fell asleep.
The fourth time it happened, I knew what pain was.
Just a look and I screamed. I saw that look and knew what was coming. It was impossible to imagine a time when I hadn't been in such excruciating pain that I could no longer reason. Instinct was my only master, and when I saw you with that look in your eyes, the raised hand only hovering over my wound, I screamed, and then I screamed again. It didn't stop, and so here I lay, watching you with bloodshot eyes, screaming because this time, I know you'll teach me again what pain is.
