I am starving, but the mere thought of eating my food out of a bowl makes me retching. I stare at it, stare at that pile of dogfood or whatever it is. And then I start to cry. But not like when she whipped me. It's a desperate crying, a crying of the last hope gone. In that moment I know that I will never get out of here. At least, not alive. The only question that remains is: Is living like this better than death?