Post by Saya on Feb 2, 2005 19:44:47 GMT -5
Catharsis
Everyone has a monster lurking somewhere inside of them. Some can tame the monster and make it serve their purposes, be it their work ethic, athleticism, fighting the good fight, etc. Others let the beast corrupt their souls, listening to the dark whispers telling them to do inhumane and degenerate deeds. They are weak, aimless creatures that with the proper guidance can turn their lives into meaningful creations, if they can be reached in time…or at all.
Some go beyond the reach of redemption. The only thing left for them is to wonder through life, their soul destroyed by the evils they have done. A cancer of the spirit, as I like to call it. Only this cancer does not kill the physical body, so that job is left to someone else.
This poor bastard that lies strapped to the table before me is about to feel the equivalent of the pain he put a friend of mine through. The monster in me needs a purpose as well. I believe I have found it.
He lay strapped to a slab of smooth finished wooden, about the size of a picnic table. Holes had been cut in table on both sides of his wrists with rope binding them down as to prevent escape. Likewise, there were holes by his midsection and ankles. He lay clothed in a blue Old Navy shirt, cargo pants, and suede Doc Martins. I had used chloroform on him, and he had been out long enough. It was time to begin.
I held some smelling salts and waved it under his nose, slapping him every couple seconds. “Wake up”, I said smiling down upon him like I was his best friend. “Who the f**k are you?!?!? Where the f**k am I?” he said. I hadn’t expected him to become delirious until later on. Oh well. I didn’t expect him to be much of a challenge.
“Good morning Tom”, I said in my most polite voice. If he could see the hell I was about to bring down on him, it was only in the eyes, I put on my best nuts-eating grin. When the many sucker punches to his mind and body came, I wanted him to be off his guard. Just like he did to her. “Tom you are probably wondering why I brought you here. You aren’t going to believe this, but you just won the Publishers’ Clearing House sweepstakes”. He looked at me as if I had lost mind. Considering what I was going to do, maybe that look wasn’t so far removed from the truth.
The bastard started screaming “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”. Being that he asked me so nicely this time I decided to answer him, in a completely abstract way. “My name is Richard, and I’ll be your torturer today.”
At this, his eyes widened.
“What the Hell? Man let me out of these f**king chains and I will beat your ass”. I smiled as I replied to his threats “That may be well and true, Tom, but the fact is that I am not letting you out until I am good and ready and it might be in your best interests not to piss me off. I might have a little bit of mercy on you. You see Tom, you are in a really, really bad spot right now. The person standing before you, that’s me, has a friend that you hurt really badly in a way that is hard for her, her family, and her friends to get over. Prison is too good for you. What I am going to do could be considered too good for you as well.” His eyes widened more, and his chest pumped up and down with the labor of his breath. “Look man, if you are talking about Karen, I’m sorry! That was f**king years ago. The pregnant dog has got to be over it by now”.
Coldly I said, “She has healed. She’s…. evolved since your attack on her. It’s going to be a poor son of a pregnant dog that tries to pull what you pulled; I can guarantee you of that. It still hurts her though. That’s why I am here. I want vindication”. As I said the last three words, I pulled out a razor and cut the front of his shirt, length wise from top to bottom opening it up nicely for me to work on.
He tried to squirm away from me. He would find no escape. I brought the razor down to his chest, a couple inches above his navel, and gently pressed the blade down. Panic seeped into his eyes, as he bent his head forward to look at my handiwork. “Jesus Christ! What the f**k is your problem?”.
“You are”, I replied, applying pressure to the blade, making blood appear. He shrieked. I brought the blade up in a long vertical cut, stemming length wise from the first laceration to between his breasts. Then, I made a cut horizontally from just below his right breast to his left breast. “As for Jesus, may he grant you the forgiveness that I can not. You now have his mark.”<br> He bent his head forward, seeing the old bloody cross there, a symbol of both suffering and redemption, life and death. “Are you a praying man, Tom?” “f**k man what the hell is your problem? What the nuts does it matter?”
I put the razor next to his eye; the pointed edge just a hair away from touching his pupil. “Tom, I will ask the questions, you will answer them. The next time you answer a question by asking one, you will lose an eye. Do you understand me?” The old cliché of eyes being the windows to the soul is right. I had accomplished my first goal: filling his soul with fear.
It does something to a man to see his eye reflected back at him on cold steel in close proximity. In Tom, it made him finally realize that I was the devil and he was in Hell, he belonged to me for the duration of his last living moments. “Y…eah…yes.” “YES WHAT?” I said. His head was frozen still, only his lips moved as he said, “Yes I understand”. “Good. Now I’ll ask again. Are you a praying man?”
“Sometimes”. His voice was trembling.
“I think this might be one of those times when you want to pray, Tom”.
I took the razor down to his right hand and shoved it under his thumbnail. He screamed as blood gushed out from his thumb. “Don’t waste your breath Tom. I’ve got nine more to go…”
Over the next few minutes while I worked on his fingernails, he screamed obscenities and begged for forgiveness, saying he was sorry and that he would do anything if I would please let him go. I reminded him that Karen said the same things to him.
From the tips of all fingers of both hands flowed crimson. He looked very artful there, with the cross on his chest growing bigger from the flowing hemoglobin. He lay very, very still. He shivered a bit, and his eyes glazed over. He was going into shock. Everything in the room was a quiet, except for his breath and rhythmatic drop of his blood hitting the floor.
I decided it was time to talk to him. I pulled up a chair and sat down beside his head. He was crying. Not sobs, just tears flowing, and the rustle of wind passing through mucus. “Tom, how are you feeling?”<br> “I…I want to go home.” He turned at looked at me, his eyes begging for mercy, his mouth a quiver. I looked at him, cold and impassive, my eyes answering his. Understanding their answer, he turned back facing the ceiling. Then the sobbing started.
I had held her many, many times, and heard those same kinds of sobs. Hers moved me. His didn’t. d**n him to hell. I sat there listening and watching him sob, like he deserved some sort of pity, and maybe he did but f**king hell he was not going to get it from me. My anger boiled up to where I could not listen to his nuts anymore and God help me I hit him. I hit him hard. I hit him for every f**king time I had to see her broken look, every time I had to see her sobbing, for every time he touched her, every time I had to hold her until she feel asleep because she was afraid to be alone, every time she pulled away from my touch because she remembered him, for every time she woke up screaming.
When I finished, when I finally came back to my senses, I couldn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the only one who was now sobbing. As for his sobs, there was not much he could sob with. I had broken the bone underneath his left eye socket, which in turn left his eye hanging out a bit. The other one was swollen over. His nose, what was left of it, dangled on his left cheek. Every muscle of my body felt on fire. I could feel the blood rushing in my head. God I was worse than him at this point. I the monster, he the victim, roles finally reversed. This was how I had played it out in my mind many times.
I took a can of salt and poured it on his chest with one hand, and bore it into his chest wound with the other. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t. The blood from the wounds on his face had filled his mouth, and he was choking on his own blood. I didn’t want him to go out like that way. Dying like that would be too merciful.
I took the lighter fluid out of my pocket, and let him look at it through the squint of his swollen eye. I pressed on the can, spraying the crotch of his pants very well before moving the spray to his torso. “Richard”, he muttered as best as he could through broken teeth and a mouth full of life, “tell her I’m sorry”.
This shocked me. I had hoped to get him to realize the full impact he had on Karen. It took brining him to the point of death for him to see it. I hoped he meant it. His next stop, unless he had made peace with the Almighty was Hell. Either way he was going to burn.
I reached in my pocket again for the matches. Lighting one, I said, “I will”. I threw it at the part of him most covered in the fluid. I watched him burn for half an hour before the flames died down.
I picked up my cell phone and called her. After three rings she answered.
“Hello?”<br> “It’s finished.”<br> She too, sobbed.
Everyone has a monster lurking somewhere inside of them. Some can tame the monster and make it serve their purposes, be it their work ethic, athleticism, fighting the good fight, etc. Others let the beast corrupt their souls, listening to the dark whispers telling them to do inhumane and degenerate deeds. They are weak, aimless creatures that with the proper guidance can turn their lives into meaningful creations, if they can be reached in time…or at all.
Some go beyond the reach of redemption. The only thing left for them is to wonder through life, their soul destroyed by the evils they have done. A cancer of the spirit, as I like to call it. Only this cancer does not kill the physical body, so that job is left to someone else.
This poor bastard that lies strapped to the table before me is about to feel the equivalent of the pain he put a friend of mine through. The monster in me needs a purpose as well. I believe I have found it.
He lay strapped to a slab of smooth finished wooden, about the size of a picnic table. Holes had been cut in table on both sides of his wrists with rope binding them down as to prevent escape. Likewise, there were holes by his midsection and ankles. He lay clothed in a blue Old Navy shirt, cargo pants, and suede Doc Martins. I had used chloroform on him, and he had been out long enough. It was time to begin.
I held some smelling salts and waved it under his nose, slapping him every couple seconds. “Wake up”, I said smiling down upon him like I was his best friend. “Who the f**k are you?!?!? Where the f**k am I?” he said. I hadn’t expected him to become delirious until later on. Oh well. I didn’t expect him to be much of a challenge.
“Good morning Tom”, I said in my most polite voice. If he could see the hell I was about to bring down on him, it was only in the eyes, I put on my best nuts-eating grin. When the many sucker punches to his mind and body came, I wanted him to be off his guard. Just like he did to her. “Tom you are probably wondering why I brought you here. You aren’t going to believe this, but you just won the Publishers’ Clearing House sweepstakes”. He looked at me as if I had lost mind. Considering what I was going to do, maybe that look wasn’t so far removed from the truth.
The bastard started screaming “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?”. Being that he asked me so nicely this time I decided to answer him, in a completely abstract way. “My name is Richard, and I’ll be your torturer today.”
At this, his eyes widened.
“What the Hell? Man let me out of these f**king chains and I will beat your ass”. I smiled as I replied to his threats “That may be well and true, Tom, but the fact is that I am not letting you out until I am good and ready and it might be in your best interests not to piss me off. I might have a little bit of mercy on you. You see Tom, you are in a really, really bad spot right now. The person standing before you, that’s me, has a friend that you hurt really badly in a way that is hard for her, her family, and her friends to get over. Prison is too good for you. What I am going to do could be considered too good for you as well.” His eyes widened more, and his chest pumped up and down with the labor of his breath. “Look man, if you are talking about Karen, I’m sorry! That was f**king years ago. The pregnant dog has got to be over it by now”.
Coldly I said, “She has healed. She’s…. evolved since your attack on her. It’s going to be a poor son of a pregnant dog that tries to pull what you pulled; I can guarantee you of that. It still hurts her though. That’s why I am here. I want vindication”. As I said the last three words, I pulled out a razor and cut the front of his shirt, length wise from top to bottom opening it up nicely for me to work on.
He tried to squirm away from me. He would find no escape. I brought the razor down to his chest, a couple inches above his navel, and gently pressed the blade down. Panic seeped into his eyes, as he bent his head forward to look at my handiwork. “Jesus Christ! What the f**k is your problem?”.
“You are”, I replied, applying pressure to the blade, making blood appear. He shrieked. I brought the blade up in a long vertical cut, stemming length wise from the first laceration to between his breasts. Then, I made a cut horizontally from just below his right breast to his left breast. “As for Jesus, may he grant you the forgiveness that I can not. You now have his mark.”<br> He bent his head forward, seeing the old bloody cross there, a symbol of both suffering and redemption, life and death. “Are you a praying man, Tom?” “f**k man what the hell is your problem? What the nuts does it matter?”
I put the razor next to his eye; the pointed edge just a hair away from touching his pupil. “Tom, I will ask the questions, you will answer them. The next time you answer a question by asking one, you will lose an eye. Do you understand me?” The old cliché of eyes being the windows to the soul is right. I had accomplished my first goal: filling his soul with fear.
It does something to a man to see his eye reflected back at him on cold steel in close proximity. In Tom, it made him finally realize that I was the devil and he was in Hell, he belonged to me for the duration of his last living moments. “Y…eah…yes.” “YES WHAT?” I said. His head was frozen still, only his lips moved as he said, “Yes I understand”. “Good. Now I’ll ask again. Are you a praying man?”
“Sometimes”. His voice was trembling.
“I think this might be one of those times when you want to pray, Tom”.
I took the razor down to his right hand and shoved it under his thumbnail. He screamed as blood gushed out from his thumb. “Don’t waste your breath Tom. I’ve got nine more to go…”
Over the next few minutes while I worked on his fingernails, he screamed obscenities and begged for forgiveness, saying he was sorry and that he would do anything if I would please let him go. I reminded him that Karen said the same things to him.
From the tips of all fingers of both hands flowed crimson. He looked very artful there, with the cross on his chest growing bigger from the flowing hemoglobin. He lay very, very still. He shivered a bit, and his eyes glazed over. He was going into shock. Everything in the room was a quiet, except for his breath and rhythmatic drop of his blood hitting the floor.
I decided it was time to talk to him. I pulled up a chair and sat down beside his head. He was crying. Not sobs, just tears flowing, and the rustle of wind passing through mucus. “Tom, how are you feeling?”<br> “I…I want to go home.” He turned at looked at me, his eyes begging for mercy, his mouth a quiver. I looked at him, cold and impassive, my eyes answering his. Understanding their answer, he turned back facing the ceiling. Then the sobbing started.
I had held her many, many times, and heard those same kinds of sobs. Hers moved me. His didn’t. d**n him to hell. I sat there listening and watching him sob, like he deserved some sort of pity, and maybe he did but f**king hell he was not going to get it from me. My anger boiled up to where I could not listen to his nuts anymore and God help me I hit him. I hit him hard. I hit him for every f**king time I had to see her broken look, every time I had to see her sobbing, for every time he touched her, every time I had to hold her until she feel asleep because she was afraid to be alone, every time she pulled away from my touch because she remembered him, for every time she woke up screaming.
When I finished, when I finally came back to my senses, I couldn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the only one who was now sobbing. As for his sobs, there was not much he could sob with. I had broken the bone underneath his left eye socket, which in turn left his eye hanging out a bit. The other one was swollen over. His nose, what was left of it, dangled on his left cheek. Every muscle of my body felt on fire. I could feel the blood rushing in my head. God I was worse than him at this point. I the monster, he the victim, roles finally reversed. This was how I had played it out in my mind many times.
I took a can of salt and poured it on his chest with one hand, and bore it into his chest wound with the other. He tried to scream, but he couldn’t. The blood from the wounds on his face had filled his mouth, and he was choking on his own blood. I didn’t want him to go out like that way. Dying like that would be too merciful.
I took the lighter fluid out of my pocket, and let him look at it through the squint of his swollen eye. I pressed on the can, spraying the crotch of his pants very well before moving the spray to his torso. “Richard”, he muttered as best as he could through broken teeth and a mouth full of life, “tell her I’m sorry”.
This shocked me. I had hoped to get him to realize the full impact he had on Karen. It took brining him to the point of death for him to see it. I hoped he meant it. His next stop, unless he had made peace with the Almighty was Hell. Either way he was going to burn.
I reached in my pocket again for the matches. Lighting one, I said, “I will”. I threw it at the part of him most covered in the fluid. I watched him burn for half an hour before the flames died down.
I picked up my cell phone and called her. After three rings she answered.
“Hello?”<br> “It’s finished.”<br> She too, sobbed.