Uprising

  ******

  Far above, a man named Jeffrey truly wanted to regret his decision to volunteer as fists pounded into his midsection, cracking his ribs. Another blow drove into his stomach, and he exhaled violently, blood spraying from his mouth. He was in a dark room, a shed, tied to a chair. The floor was cold tile, a ceramic material, and a bare bulb hung from the ceiling. A few men, wearing black with a crescent moon over a star insignia on their shoulder, struck him over and over.

  They'd been beating him for five minutes without a word. No questions: nothing at all. Elijah didn't say it would be like thi-

  The thought cut off as a fist slammed into his cheek, snapping his head to the side and exploding his vision with white stars. His head lolled back and forth, and he coughed.

  On and on this abuse went; fear began to seep through his beaten body that this effort would be entirely wasted. They would pummel him into a meaningless, futile death, and none of his preparation would have meant a thing.

  A realization struck long after his fears ran their course. They had ceased striking him. He opened one eye; his other was swollen shut.

  Blurry figures stood before him, silent and watching. A door opened and sunlight- he couldn't believe it: real sunlight- poured into the shack. It was gloriously blinding and warm. He heard heavy, sharp footfalls on the hard floor. A figure, silhouetted by the bright light, leered down.

  "You will now answer questions. If your response is inaccurate or insufficient, I will leave, and these men will continue for as long as is necessary. Do you understand?"

  He let out a small whimper, knowing he couldn't break yet. "P-please…"

  His head burst with pain as he was struck again.

  "A warning. Answer the question."

  The question? What was it again? His mind chugged around, trying to recall what he was supposed to answer as his head hung limp.

  His scalp shrieked as his head was yanked to a level position; the interrogator's face was an inch from his own. "Do you understand?"

  Jeffrey cringed and spat a mouthful of blood into the man's face. Curses and tinges of regret rolled through his thoughts as his hair was released. The man's sharp walk could be heard exiting the room. The door slammed with a metallic clang, taking with it the brightness and hope of the sun.

  The beating resumed, hammer blows pounding into his battered body as he faded out of awareness. Elijah's words echoed in his mind, Don't break too soon, or they might not believe it.