"Untitled" by Connor McGuire

The sink was once white when it was new, but that was many years ago. Instead brown
rust and black dirt had made a new home in the crevices and cracks. It was half full of dirty
water and the nozzle had a steady drip drip drip that was the only sound in the room. Next to the
sink were knives, hooks, hammers, and a few other unknown items. Some were bloody.

In front of the sink was a chair. It sat facing away from the sink. Five men, all hooded
and masked, either stood or sat in the room facing that chair. In the chair sat Michael. He was
blindfolded so tight that his forehead was purple. Open gashes, hot brand wounds, and sweat
spilled down his naked chest and into his pants, wet from piss. His jeans stuck to his legs when
he tried to move. His hands were tied with barbed wire behind him and if he tried to reach far
back enough he could almost touch the front of the sink.

Michael listened carefully. The drip drip drip was a clock for him counting down to…

It was a beacon. He held on to that sound with everything he could. Drip drip drip.
He couldn’t tell if he was alone but he knew he wasn’t. The other men in the room made no
noise and didn’t move, but he didn’t hear them leave. They simply stood there; watching him.

Footsteps! They appeared out of nowhere and came up to Michael and then stopped
next to him. Michael listened carefully, for breathing, for movement, for anything, but all he
heard was the drip drip drip. A hand grabbed his face and wiped the sweat off of it. Michael
shook his head, trying to get the hand off of him. Suddenly he heard a creak and the sink faucet
was on and he knew the sink was being refilled.

“Oh Jesus, please, no.” He begged as the sink filled. “Please, no.” The creak came
again and the faucet went silent, except for the drip drip drip. A hand grabbed him by the throat
and stood him up. A second pair of hands grabbed his wrists and he was turned to the sink and
his face shoved into the water.

Everything is muffled underwater. You can hear voices and sounds but they all sound
far-off, like in a distant room. There is no smell as water is forced up your nose, it simply stings.
Michael couldn’t hear the dripping of the water but instead felt it on the back of his neck. He
didn’t fight the hands that held him down, he stayed as motionless as possible. This had been
done to him many times before and he intended to test his resilience against their patience and
see who would win out.

At least a minute had gone by, maybe two? Michael could feel the pressure on his skin
building. He tried hard not to but couldn’t help but cough up air. Water forced its way into his
mouth and throat. His chest began convulsing and he knew he wouldn’t be able to help but
breathe in soon.

He struggled harder and harder and didn’t notice the muffled yelling. Loud snaps and
bangs vibrated the sink and the bones in Michael’s body. The hands let go and he fell down
to his knees as water slopped down his face. He gasped for air and coughed hard. When
he could focus he felt something on his hands on the floor. Water? No, it was sticky. Blood?

“Alright get him up, put him in the chair.” A strange voice said. A new pair of hands
grabbed him around the shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. They were gentle, at least,
compared to the hands from before. The chair was put against the back of his knees and he sat
without being told. He shivered softly.

Michael heard heavy footsteps again. They came up to him and stopped in front of
him. He could hear the heavy breath of the man in front of him. Someone grabbed his hair
and pulled his face forward. A knife pulled at the blindfold and it fell loosely into his lap. The
hands grabbed his chin and pulled his face up towards a flashlight. It blinded him and he
forced his eyes shut. The hand let go and he looked down at the ground. When he opened
his eyes he saw blood pooled on the floor and four...no, five dead men on the ground, blood
gushing out from open holes in their chests and head. He saw the feet of the men who stood
in their place. They walked freely in the room, careless of the blood-stained footprints they left.

“It’s not him.” He heard the voice from before say.

“What?” a second said.

“It’s the wrong man.” Said the first. A single pair of feet came back up to him and
stopped. He looked up in time to see the barrel of a gun aiming down at him and…

The drip drip drip of the sink was still there and the blood in the water curled like smoke
with every drop.