It was different.

It was different. 
From what we've always heard. It's amusing how you expect it to be different but it varies, even from that. Something I could not completely weave in my imagination. They put me on a table, earmuffs for my ears, sand sacks to glue my legs in place and the table proceeded inside the MRI machine. 
1020 seconds of an advanced form of suffering, amusingly made to detect the defect inside us.
The sound jolts every cell but moving a muscle was not an option. It keeps piercing through until you forget to breathe and give in to the torture. 
Alarming, how one gives in to pain without flinching a muscle, mimicking death. There is pain in it and no pleasure. Those who say torture gives them pleasure, let me remind you that torture is not an option. It is always inflicted.
So do no tell me tales of how agony has always appealed to you. I dare not say, I thought of my happy place or my loved ones. Because no one mattered. 
All that matters is the pain. 
The continuous persisting pain that takes no rest. But how strange; a moment before the pain begins and right after it halts, as I lay half unconscious on the table and the attendants carry me outside the room, why is it your name blooms excruciatingly in the depths of my mind?