"Over. And over. And over. I’m cold. Clammy. Weak. I’m striking again and again. It snapped loudly, like a twig in a silent wood. Oh, yeah. It’s broken. I’m bending it. Contorting it. Forcing it. His fingers are facing backwards, toward his body, touching his forearm. It looks so bizarre. I’m slamming his wrist, again and again. Now I’m sawing. I’m in a frenzy. I want to stop. I can’t. I’m too close. I’m twisting some more, back and forth. Round and round."