IN THE HANDS OF DEATH

CHARLES FOX.

It felt like my body was sinking beneath the weight of a thousand stones, pinned down by an invisible force that stripped away my strength. I couldn’t move. Every attempt to lift a finger, to open my eyes, was met with failure. Pain—raw, unrelenting pain—coursed through me, a kind I had never known. It wasn’t just the ache of flesh but something more profound, gnawing at my very soul. I was trapped, helpless, and death whispered like a promise in my ear, offering release. At that moment, I longed for death, for the quiet it would bring.

I called for her. I needed her. But she was nowhere to be found. My heart reached into the darkness, yearning for her, desperate to feel her presence. Still, she didn’t come.

Then, just when the darkness nearly swallowed me whole, I felt it. A gen……