Once the slightly damp rag was laid upon my face, I fell into a coma-like state that felt like a mental prison.  I woke only to see nothing but the inside of a sack.  My arms and legs were bound, incapacitating my movement and hope of survival.
I didn’t know what to think once I was transferred to another van.  I struggled a bit when someone’s hand grazed my arm.  My action was quickly met with a commanding punch to the gut.  Pained and afraid, I started to sob quietly while masking my breathing, so not to arouse suspicion of me being awake.
After what seemed like an eternity, more people had gathered around me.  I could feel the rain pounding all over body and dripping through the sack.  I had never been scared of stairs before, but the stairs I am being forced to climb are the most petrifying of them all.  Eventually I was guided into a building, at least I think it was a building.
My ears were flooded with conversations in a different language that I couldn’t decipher.  Someone shouted something that was like cut.  Then someone stood me up from the chair I was sitting in and tightened a rope around my neck.
Everything slowed down like in a dream where you are stuck in one place and cannot move.  Every sense that was alive in this room found its way into my mind for processing.  I heard a man start to preach in front of me.  The musty smell of the unused room.  My racing heart echoing its last thumps off the worn-down brick walls.  As I stood on the chair I had been previously sitting on.  My fate swirled around me for a split second before I was finally able to accept my destiny.  This would be my final breath;  I would never get to see my son take his first steps.