Rebel
“TWENTY-EIGHT WREN MEAT.
My arms wouldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t move. I was on a hard table and I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t get to the meat.
I squinted in the bright light at the figures around me, snapped my teeth and thrashed against the metal holding my wrists.
Mumbled voices floated in the air, and a man came into sight. He was juicy meat, plushy meat, fatty meat.
I growled, lifting my head as far as it would go. Meat moved away.
The voices around me were louder, and the meat was holding my arms and legs. I flailed until the table began to wobble and the voices grew louder. Panic. I liked the panic. The panic made the meat smell better.
I wrenched one arm free and grabbed at the closest meat.
Everything went black.
I blinked, squinting at the blurry walls of my cell. My head was heavy and cold. My cheek was pressed to the freezing concrete.
I slapped my hands against the floor and started to push myself up, gasping as a wave of dizziness crashed over me. I was going to vomit.
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