Excerpt: Immunity

When the first stroke fell, her fingers curled against the wall, nails scraping and cracking. The sound of a whip cracking echoed loudly in the small room. Over and over she was reminded of a crime that she did not commit, of the betrayal of one who had never really been worthy of the title friend. A pattern of ribbons was tattooed into her back, crimson ribbons that trickled down her skin, pretty lines that flowed along the curve of her hips and slowly down her thighs to drip against the stone floor with steady rhythm.
She screamed out with every stroke, a sound that followed the sound of the whip connecting with flesh, as if it was a hesitation, meant to be at the exact same moment. The sound of the whip changed over time; it became a wetter sound as her back became soaked with blood, the small trickles down her body more akin to full force rivers, like a dam near her shoulders had broken. She twitched in her bonds, jerking her hands against the cuffs hard enough at times to leaves rings of broken skin that would bruise and then become patterns of white circles on her wrists when they scarred. Her nails frayed and her finger tips started to bleed.
As soon as Mercedes started to become dizzy, her body sagging in the bonds as her mind reached for unconsciousness, the beating stopped. The nameless guard behind her that she neither knew nor had done any personal affront to in her life, stopped mid stroke when he saw her motions slowing.
He let her down and wrapped her torso in bandages and then re-dressed her. She was left in her stone cage to heal. When she was left alone, her breathing was still ragged, and her voice, as she whispered to herself in the long dark, was rough and abused.