Khost: Some Caves Are Best Left Unexplored
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This story did not happen.
Khost did not happen…
The hood was ripped from his head, torn away in violent fashion — tossed aside to the cold cement floor.
The shadow of a large man retreating to the shadows, blinding lights glaring, wild-eyed staring.
Strapped to a chair, arms and legs numb.
Head groggy, mind unclear.
Sergeant York.
He screamed out, shaking his head as he filled the room with a god-awful noise. It was one of despair, one of rage. York took in deep breaths, blinking at the harsh lights shining in his eyes. Eyes flickering, moving back and forth.
And back and forth.
“What the fuck!” York screamed. He attempted to stand, thrusting up with all his might. But his body was rigid, something holding him back. York looked down, seeing the chains, feeling them cut into his skin. It was agonizing, yet it urged him on. Drove him to escape that much harder. York seemed to embrace this imprisonment. It was the only reality he had from the shocking truth, the only thing tangible, the only thing he had left.