I am nothing now. Sitting in white. There is no color, no pigment. The only hint of a sound comes from an unknown faucet. Drip, dripping. Dripping blood from my vains filling this void with what once made my very heart beat. Now I stare blank. I dare not move, the arrows are pointed directly at my chest. I only gaze, blink, barely breathing. An arrow flies at me, pinning my arm to the wall (an apple in my mouth, a target painted on my body). I do not flinch, for I have felt this sting before. The urge, an urge to see the stars is quickly shattered with another pointed blow, this one to my leg. I am seeing a pattern now, they'll kill me slowly, I am their pig. Another arrow is let loose from the bows, then another and another until my body lies limp. This deathe sentense is a beautiful one. Here I am, these things killing me are the only things keeping me held together, as I look at my murderers, their eyes cold and black, my sickened face mirrored in their eyes, these are those I have loved...