Demands

Dave was perplexed and a little scared. There was no doubting the level of belligerence in the tone of the person who had just addressed him. What had happened to him? Had he been kidnapped?

"Who are you?"

He struggled lamely on the floor, trying to adjust his position so that he could see higher, to a face.

His question was ignored and the boots retreated. He could hear two voices: women. He suddenly felt a burst of anger. What the hell was going on?

"Do you think we should sit him up?" "He deserves to be uncomfortable." "I want him to look at me." "We could turn him over?" "I don't want to touch him." "You don't have to use your hands." "I'm not sure I'd want my boots near him either. I wish I'd had something to tie his feet too."

As Dave listened to the exchange, it was clear that he was someone's prisoner. Despite his prone and frankly vulnerable position, he shouted, his anger at being helpless unable to be contained.

"Hey! You two!"

The chatter stopped for a moment and then resumed.

He was being ignored? His indignation won.

"Hey! Don't ignore me! Untie me!"

What Dave didn't realise was that he was not helping with his outcries. In fact, he was merely adding to the anger of his restrainers.

He'd lifted his face from the floor to shout and now lowered it, the pain in his neck and back excruciating.

He took some deep breaths and felt a weight being placed on the back of his head. It hurt doubly: the boot was applying pressure but it was also directly on his wound.

Pain helped to assuage his anger in that moment and he felt scared.

"You don't get to make demands."

The boot moved and he felt it on his side, digging into his flesh to roll him over. It was done roughly. As he landed on his back, he was startled by brightness and hard ground under his head. He tried to open his eyes but it hurt. He squinted. He needed his hands to shield his face.

"What do you want?"

The reply was abrupt.

"Answers, Dave."

***

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