In his bleak asylum cell, Carmine Storm, once handsome and vibrant, now sits frail and trembling. Tormented daily by brutal electrical shocks and surviving on meager, spoiled provisions, he clings to a hidden cell phone, his lifeline to the outside world. With trembling fingers, he calls his wife, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleads for rescue “Please,” he implores, tears streaking his pallid cheeks “I can’t take this anymore. Get me out of here before it’s too late.”
Comments
0No comments yet.