Tick Tock

One of the greatest gifts life provides is the uncertainty of the hour of death. Everyone knows it is inevitable, but the circumstances and time are a mystery. It becomes almost possible to forget during the day to day that at some point in time, a final breath will be drawn.

Sandra had that gift stolen from her.

The clock set up a few feet in front of her ticked away the few remaining minutes of her life. Even if she had worked out of the ties binding her wrists to the chair, she couldn't have stopped the hands. The time would press on regardless if she ripped the gears from the box.

She had promised to scream until her lungs failed her, but it was her strength that was giving out. She was ashamed to concede she was giving up the fight. Her body was exhausted from hours of adrenaline surges instigated by fear, her wrists chaffed from struggling against plastic ties and her throat raw from unanswered screams for help.
 
The isolated room was concrete and steel, reinforcing the concept that escape was impossible. The rancid smell of the vomit on her shirt burned in her nose as her parched mouth begged for relief.

Sandra had watched nearly twenty four hours pass on the face of the clock with only her fear of his promised return to keep her company. Despite her best efforts to avert her gaze, she couldn't help but stare in terror at the impressive display he had left for her. Stainless steel trays boasted multiple tools that would have been better placed in a sterile surgical room, or possibly a dental office. He had explained the use of each item in detail, although his intents were most likely not the approved uses.

Her stomach retched at the sight of a small hooked pick, but her body didn't even have bile left to relieve the gagging.

The clock indicated only two minutes left of her twenty four hour exile. A small thought in the back of her mind prayed it would be quick, but she knew from the leering grin he had given her upon his departure, the process would last long past her begging for him to end any suffering.

Sandra felt her chest begin to heave, fighting for breath as sweat beaded across her face and trickled down the back of her neck. Deep from her gut, a primal sob formed and belched from her throat. She fought for air against her cries and felt her heart ready to burst from her chest.

There was no moment of peaceful resignation she had once imagined. No wave of clarity explaining the meaning of what her life had been meant for. Only horror.

One minute.

Against her conscious will, her body began to struggle against the restraints. Her ankles chaffed and tore to no effect against the straps pinning them to the chair legs. Her wrists were scraped raw and bleeding, but she continued to flail and sob, panic possessing every inch of her soul.

Finally, both hands of the clock stood straight up pointing triumphantly at the twelve.

Sandra heard a bolt being shifted on the other side of the heavy steel door.

Her senses dulled and turned numb. She couldn't even hear the piercing scream escape her lungs as the door opened.