A/N: Unedited. For the record, I think everyone is beautiful in their own special way.
SC ©
End of A/N.

The chains continued to rub against the skin on my pale, bony thin wrists; even ten years later. I only know that because the guards mock me whenever my birthday comes around, saying, "one year down, and a lifetime left" or whatever the year was.
    The chains still hurts a decade later. I wish that I had a cloth of some kind to keep it from scrapping against my wrist, but I don't think I have any excess cloth to spare—I don't even have a shirt, that ripped to shreds a while ago and they haven't given me another one. And my pants have tons of holes and tears in them, but it's one of the only thing that I owe, so I kept it—it's not like they're giving me a new one any time soon. Plus, if they aren't going to give me another shirt, it is highly unlikely that they are going to give me some cloths to keep it from abrading.
    I groaned from the pain in my arms that was from being suspended from the chains in the wall for hours upon hours. It put a strain on my arms, shoulders, and a bit of my back. I don't remember the last time I was allowed to put them down.
    I think that this is a punishment for something that I did, but it was so long ago that I forgot what I had done wrong. In fact, it has been such a far away time that I have almost forgotten what it is like to have my arms down by my side, instead of above my head. And being able to not have my arms above my head would be a fabulous thing; a blessing almost. Actually the blessing would be getting out of this place, but I don't think that would be happening any time soon.
    And, without warning, there was a slam of a door; like someone banged the door closed out of anger. Which is rather normal; the guards like coming in here when they are angry, and beating me up until they are able to get their anger out. But what wasn't normal, was the hissing and the clicking outside of my prison cell.
    'What's going on?' I wondered. 'No one, besides the guards, ever comes here. And the masters of the guards, I don't think I have ever met before. If it's not them, then who?'
    As if in answer, I heard keys jingling from the other side of my cell door. The guard seemed to have trouble opening it; after all, it was rather rusty from not being used very often—the guards' visits are too irregular for it to not be rusty. But a second later, the door was slammed open, revealing a brute guard.
    If he, my torturer, weren't scowling, he would actually be more appealing. And if he didn't have so many scars, bathe more than once a year, brush his teeth, and was more gentle and kind. But he does scowl, has scars, doesn't bathe, or brushes his teeth, and was cruel. Which was one of the reasons why his flaws are even worse than it was, which was saying a lot, considering he looks likes he was hit with a hammer repeatedly, ran over by a wagon, kicked in the face by a horse and cow, and beaten with the ugly stick twenty times over.
    Even though the overseer in front of me makes a sixteen weeks old corpse look like a fair elf, the man behind him looked far worse. He would make a warthog look like a a cute little puppy. The man would also make my overseer look actually appealing, and that man looked like he was hit too many times with the ugly stick. The ugly man was hideous with his deathly pale skin and inhuman eyes.
    At the same time, for some reason, those eyes look strangely familiar. I don't remember where I seen them before. Mostly because I swear I haven't seen, or met, this man before now. I would've remembered if I did—he would've been one of the few people who I have seen who haven't been a guard.
    My thoughts were abruptly disrupted when the disgusting man behind the guard pushed forward in front of him, laughing.
    At me.
    It sounds like a hyena laughing, but while dying.
    I glared at him; smiled at me, smirking actually, staring down at me like I'man interesting insect that is intriguing. A smile that speaks of cruelty and that saids that he knows something that I don't know.
    While he was smiling down at me, he walked towards me until he was like a foot away from me. As soon as he was a foot from me, he crouched down, becoming almost eye level with me; a couple inches, a foot tops, taller than me.
    "How are you, my boy?" asked the man with inhuman eyes. His voice sounds like what someone would expect from a snake.
    "Better if I could put my arms down," I snapped, still glaring at him. But I still would love it if I could finally have my arms down; it would be heavenly.
    Smirking again, even bigger this time, he said to me, "All in due time, my boy. All in due time."
"I'm not a boy," I snarled.
    The thing chuckled at him, as if there was something funny about what I said. "Compare to my age, you are."
I snorted. 'Of course he is.'
    "Do you doubt me? Because I was old before you were even born; actually before you were even thought of."
    "Good to know!" I said, rolling my eyes. "Why don't you go die in a hole then, if you're so old?"
    He gripped my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. A shiver passed through me as he seemed to stare into my soul. Had I been touching the ground, I would've shifted my feet uncomfortably, or even tried to make a run for it—even if I am chained up.
    "How amusing you are, my boy."
"I'm not your entertainment!" I snarled at him.
    The thing with inhuman eyes chuckled at me, as if it found something funny in what I said. Then, once he finished laughing, he said, "On the contrary, you actually are the special entertainment."
    I snorted at that. "How could I be your 'special entertainment' as you put it?" I haven't exactly been very exciting; I just sit in my cell, or hang by the chains around my writs, which isn't at all interesting.
    The beast in front of me smiled like a child in a candy store. "Because, if you weren't here, we wouldn't have someone to explore the world for us."
    'Well, that seems stupid and ridiculous. They held me here, tortured me, just so I could see the world for them? That's unbelievable.'
    "We want you to tell us what's out there, then report back to us. After you do that, the 'entertaining' part will begin." My captor started laughing his head off; it sounded like one of those evil laughs—or going insane laugh. "Or at least for us," he added after he finished laughing.
"And if I don't?" I asked, fearing the worst.
    "Well... Let's just say that you will do whatever we want," said the monster in front of me, deviously.
    "Why would I?!" I demanded as my monster captor circled around me.
    "Because," said the fiend, his hand touching the back of my neck, "You won't be in control of yourself."
    "What are you—" And I was cut off as I felt a blinding pain in my neck; it was like something was trying to skin me alive. Or trying to tear me apart. I screamed at the top of my lungs, struggling to get away from the pain, until I couldn't scream anymore.
    But it was everywhere, every single cell in my body knew that. I couldn't get away. And just as I thought that it wouldn't get any worse, I felt the pain running down my entire spine. The worst pain; it just won't stop.
    It wouldn't stop, just kept on going and going for what seemed like hours upon hours. And it wasn't until the brute removed his hand, that most of the pain had lessened. Blessedly reduced to only a mild ache.
    "There you go," said the barbarian, sounding rather pleased with itself. "You are all set and ready to go!" I heard it back way from me, but I still could feel its eyes on me, as if it was studying its cruel design. It then walked in front of me and said, "All we need to do is test it out, and then we are ready to go."
    It walked out of my view and, surprisingly, it winded the chain down in such a way that I was able to touch the ground, and finally lower my arms. 'Ah,' I thought, as the pain in my shoulders were next to nonexistent, 'I can finally have my arms at my side. Oh, this is so much better than having them up all the time.'
    "Do you want to see it?" asked the thing.
    "See what?"
    "My masterpiece, of course!"
    'In other words, my back,' I bitterly thought. 'I both want to see it, and don't want to see it.' But in the end, my curiosity won out in the end. "Yes. But how would I see it? I can't exactly see my back." With a smirk on its face, I saw it come back with a full length mirror. 'With a mirror, of course.'
    The brute turned the mirror to my back, showing the welts all along my spine. It was one big line all the way down my backbone; it was still going even after my pants line. From a little before my hairline to the end of my spine. And the wound looked awful. I wanted to looked away, but I couldn't.
    "This will help keep you obedient."
    "How so?"
    "Because I placed a chip that goes all the way down. And, since it's covering your rachis, it will make sure that you obey my every command."
    "NO!" I screamed, clawing furiously at my neck.
    "That won't work; you'll just end up hurting yourself."
    After discovering it was true, I fell to my knees, defeated. I let my head rest on my arms, silently plotting my captor's death.