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Weekly Contest #260
The rope was beginning to tear into his flesh, having all but worn away at the tender skin of his wrists, his ankles. He always knew he'd get got one day, but this? Bound to an armchair in a soon-to-be-flooded sewer? No. This was not the way he'd planned to go. Not that he'd actually planned his demise per se, but had he, there would be decidedly fewer faeces and rats.Blinking away the blood and sweat that had trickled into his eyes, he tried to focus on the area around him, his vision still blurry from the pistol-whipping he'd received only...
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