They set the chair in the middle of the lake, above creaking ice. The sun was already rising, hairline cracks spreading, water splashing through.
The ropes bit into her wrists and her ankles, tight enough to leave bands of red. She glared at them with hate-filled eyes as they stepped back, smiling and laughing.
“You tell us what we want to know,” the leader said, “or we’ll leave you here.”
Ice cracked under his feet, as if nature was on their payroll.
“Go to Hell,” she spat.
They nodded and backed away, leaving her to the mercy of icy waters.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Ted Strutz for providing the prompt photo!