It was white. That was something that was abnormal about the entire situation. What was not something that one thought of when being beaten.

He wondered if perhaps it was heaven trying to tell him that he was closer than he though. He hoped that it was finally the light at the end of the tunnel, but when the next blow from the stick hit him across the back, he knew he had no such luck.

A small well of blood slowly came up his throat. It almost felt like a terrible hiccup to him. One of those hiccups that are accompanied by a small amount of stomach acid with indigestion. It felt like that, but it tasted saltier. He could feel the warm liquid slowly seep from the corner of his mouth as his head fell forward. His tied arms caught him from falling all the way forward, but he felt a pop. He thought that last blow might have taken his shoulder out of socket.

The worst part about all of this was that there was no indication of why this was happening. The only thing he knew were the small tidbits of information that slipped from his attacker's lips.

He remembered the white cloth being placed around his eyes. He remembered the first blow to the chest. He even remembered that the man smelt like original Old Spice, a scent familiar to his brothers. But beyond that, nothing. A few more hits and he was out again. The boy knew he would wake up in an hour or so to more torture, and that was just the way it was going to have to be...

His eyes opened, and there was nothing there. The rag had been removed and his broken body just sat limply in the chair. He had been untied and there was no indication that his attacker was ever there.