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“Get up.”
I try to, but powerful waves of nausea force me back to the ground.
“I said, get up. Can you understand me?”
My head pounds with pain, and I struggle to form words. If I could, I’m not sure what I’d say, besides maybe to beg death.
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“He lasted longer than anyone else.”
“I have to say, I don’t feel great about this.”
“All our volunteers knew what they were getting in to, and with the waterboarding fiasco, we dearly need new stress methods.”
“Still, three straight episodes of The Simple Life? How do we sleep at night?”
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