“Twiglet, stand up.” The guard leaned against the rusty jail door, impatiently hitting a dulled knife against his arm and staring Damien down. Damien raised his bloody head, his oily hair hiding his sullen eyes. The shriveled man stumbled and struggled to stand, finally falling back against the wall. “Have they been feeding you at all? Never mind that.” The guard forces him to stand, holding him up by the armpit. “I can’t use this on arms this thin. Damn, it would've been more painful that way but I guess the head works.” The guard pulls out a syringe and holds it against Damien’s forehead. The prisoner notices it and closes his eyes. The syringe is pressed in and the guard leaves, Damien convulsing on the floor. He’s dead within the hour.

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