The interrogation

The room was pitch dark, a dimming bulb hang in the middle of the room, below luminated it’s limited light around a circular form leaving the rest of the room in darkness, all lay in the shadows. There was dead silence, but later was more less by the pestering crickets, making their chorus linger in the wind. Strapped on an ergonomic, metallic chair, hands cuffed behind the back rest, legs strongly tied to the front legs seat by firm sisal ropes, impossible to tear unless maybe you were stronger than Hercules, he lay unconscienced. His head all dusty, blood dripped drop by drop, his black pollo shirt was all dirty and stained, it’s top buttons ripped off exposing his hairy chest, his trousers were all tarred and the charming black texture was no longer charming nor visible, on first sight you may presume him as some madman. But he was in the room, the Truth chamber, so sooner or later he was going to turn insane and if he doesn’t he will live to remember this experience till he dawn’
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