Pictures from Assad’s prisons:

In a cell with dimensions of three meters long and a meter and a half wide, where six men gathered ..
One old man in his fiftieth, broken ribs and cracked skin and a broken jaw from the torture sessions ..
Whispering voice hardly heard: I have four young sons, three of them with the rebels, the youngest is in cell next to this. ( How I know where are the other three, I don’t know!??)
After hours , and through the cracks in the metal door, a torture session starts with someone ..
From the first cry, the father shrinks back, holds my hand and presses it until I feel he squeezed it .
... (This is my son)...
Transcend brash young man with the sixteen-year-old begins distress and creative torturers: beating, the electricity and ….
The poor father starts beating his head against the wall ..? And says: 'O Lord ... and the more brash son, the stronger blows to his head against the wall.. and I vainly trying to calm him down until the end of the session. The dried blood mixed with tears over the previous blood ... and he fell unconscious ..
The next day, the story repeated ..
Left him a month ago .. I cannot forget his appearance when a little bit of light enters the cell and the accumulated layers of blood on his shirt and his eyes where full of petrified tears ...
Today I read his name listed in one of martyrs pages. And next to their name: (martyred under torture.)
Believe it or not, I did not saddened by the news of his death as I did when I was with him.
Translated from : http://www.facebook.com/#!/alepxpat11/posts/349582111801568