I blink wildly as the dark textured fabric pins my lashes to my face, and behind my back my knuckles whiten in protest. I tug at my arms but the fabric will not slack against the bones of my wrists. The air around me is damp as I breath it in, coating the back of my throat in a harsh wet kiss --sour and salty, the rot and decay pour into me like ocean water dripping down my throat and no mater how...