This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. Photo credit goes to Sandra Cook.
He could feel the leather straps tighten as he struggled against them. The strap they had placed under his head tilted him backward so he could not see, but could feel, the sister straps on his ankles.
And he was turning in slow counter clock wise circles. Adding to his mounting fear was the fact that in addition he was moving upward. He looked at the ceiling in this dim lit room and saw row upon row on what looked like sixteen penny nails. Thousands of them. Calculating his rate of accent he estimated he had five minutes to live.