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epicerin96
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epicerin96
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Chains. On my ankles, on my wrists. Around my neck. Burning, ripping into my flesh. But it didn't hurt. Not like it should have. Not with...it. Not with it flowing through my veins, numbing my emotions and senses. But wait--what's that? I'm sad. Frustrated. Scared. Lonely. I'm feeling them, tingling through me, and I do feel the pain. I see the blood and feel the warmth of it running down my arms and pooling beneath my heels. I raise my head and see a light, a figure. A scientist. How do I know this? I don't. But soon he's there, in front of me, hauling me to my feet. Pressing something against my lips. I feel something cold run down my throat, then a freedom on my wrists. Then cool air on my ankles. Then my neck. Then I'm being hauled to my feet and out the door, into a bright white room. And then I see the glint of the syringe and see it drawing near, and I scream without meaning to. I thrash and kick and slam into the wall, something wet streaming down my cheeks. But it's no use, and in moments the syringe has been plunged into my forearm and I can't feel, can't feel, can't feel... And I miss it.