[continued from previous message] 
  
 hear. It became like a routine. They'd come in, tie me up, spend maybe an 
 hour doing it. They never spoke to me. Then they'd tip some kind of liquid 
 on me - the burning was like grasping a hot coal. The cutting, that was one 
 kind of pain. The burning, that was another. 
  
 In all the 18 months I was there, I never went outside. I never saw the sun, 
 not even once. I never saw any human being except the guards and my 
 tormentors, unless you count the pictures they showed me. 
  
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  * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)