[ wp ] `` You 're gon na miss me when I 'm gone . ''

Arms wrapped behind the metal bars of the stacking chair, tied with fraying ropes and a gleaming silver lock. The plastic package took a rest in the trash nearby. Bright. One light overhead with a dinner plate rim, and the man tied sighed. 
 
 The tier ’ s higher. Bloody bits of rope rest the floor and he paces around the chair, almost skipping. Okay, he ’ s skipping. To the man in the chair the antagoniser is skipping, but remember, he ’ s lost a lot of blood. 
 
 The sorry deluded watches to the other, and he says to themother: I ’ m going to miss me when you ’ re gone.
