"I will give you a taste

  of what this is like for me.  Us." The women and children neared the men who'd somehow survived another workday.  They'd been blindfolded with their ties, that day.  And ransomed back to their families.  The men could only smell what had happened to their loved ones.  And those were the lucky people in a Continental drift of turn of the new Century warring over money and resources like food and water.  Of course, the dominating question of the men was Who did this to you? 

  A slight bend at the knees and a whiff of magazine perfume, rubbing noses and a tender kiss on the lips.  "Oh my God.  Do I taste blood?" The necktie blindfold was removed.  "I bit my lip on the bump in the road near the pay tolls." 

  Stunned to see each other as the ties came off.  One man had several ties choking, over his mouth, broken nose, and lopsided over his eyes.  Handcuffed with a raw fish stuffed into his hands. 

  Nobody move.  The photographers obliterated existing light in the room with the flashbulbs.  The men were moved from rescue, through crisis/impact, and into survivor status rooms. 

  "Oddly, if you can stand and walk on your own, you're free to leave." 

  Each drove by pre-planning from the epicenter of "the pie" outward through an economic zone.