“Count to ten.” Emile said, while pressing the gun against the back of my head.

I clinch forward in pain, the surgery wounds never completely healed. The metal of a weathered gun can irritate even the toughest of skins.

“One, two, three, four” I begin to count aloud, making sure my voice stays steady with the ticks of the clock. Precision is key. No one wants to wind up dead.

“five, six, seven..” I continue the upwards count, like a rocket ship on it’s way to the moon. Steady. Smooth. Loud. Grabbing hold of the side of the entrance in front of me, I hear the clicks of the machine as it comes to life, followed by the whirling of multiple engines.

“eight, nine…”

I shut my eyes, keeping my head in place as to not end up paralyzed in a hospital bed. A feeding tube isn’t my idea of comfort, even though staying still and doing nothing was my forte. I hear several more loud clicks, followed by the whizzing of electrical arcs.

“ten.”