It was dark. His entire body burned. He couldn't see a single thing. All he could hear was the screaming—the screaming that sounded like his own voice.
The pain was never-ending. It hurt so much that he was certain he would die. With each scream, the pain only seemed to get worse. He couldn't find even a little reprieve.
All he got was darkness and even more pain.
Through the haze of pain, a cold touch settled over his arm. The pain in his arm eased almost immediately. The relief was overwhelming; all he could do was gasp.
Despite everything going on, he could tell there was something very familiar about this touch. So familiar, he wanted to grab hold of it. He tried to lean in closer but stopped himself as he remembered.
He always wanted the cold hands, but they never came without pain. Always, always.
