I began this while I was in Afghanistan. I didn't hate the idea, but, I didn't know how to continue, finish, or what to do with it. It's an idea I want to toy around with a bit further, but, I think it needs a better writer then I am.
“I’ve
never had a problem with fighting. Since I was young violence has
been the one thing I was good at. In my primary school years I got
picked on, though after I beat Marty Johanson within an inch of his
life for calling me... What was it that he said... Ah, right, it was
Fart-knocker. I nearly killed that kid and that told me how great it
was to hold the balance of life and death in the palm of my hand.
After that incident people kept their distance so I had to take up
hunting to get the same feeling that I would from the fight. Hunting,
skinning, and fighting. One would say that these traits are good for
little more then a killer, that some would be right in my case.
“I
live outside the city and I own a small cabin in the woods, this
allows me to keep my toys away from the prying eyes of the public,
who’s popular opinion would be far against my work and my hobby, as
there is nothing like the feeling of a body when the heartbeat
weakens and eventually stops. In my cabin, there is a small arsenal
of rifles and enough knives to please a Persian twelve times over,
knives of all shapes and sizes, though my personal favorite is this
one. The wavy bladed knife that is about a cubit long. The feeling
that you get when shoving that knife through flesh is indescribable,
but I digress. The subject was what is to become of you.”
A
young man was tied to the chair in front of me. I tied him there,
after all, and the bonds were tight enough that now I began to sight
blood running down his wrists. I reveled in the sight of the dark red
liquid as it slowly trickled down the reddened skin and onto the
polished wood of the chair, and there it sat for a while waiting to
gather enough of a pool to begin moving along with the grain. The
fear in the young man’s eyes was a sight to relish in, wide with
the stark terror that only comes with the realization of one’s own
impending doom. He was gagged though that would be the first thing to
come off when I was finished with my oration, the gag was so he
didn’t interrupt me with his screams, that and screams of pain are
much better then screams of terror.
“First
I think I’ll cut off a finger, then a toe, then work my way up from
there, until I finally end up slicing open your stomach to your chest
to watch the last beatings of your heart. That is if I don’t get
too excited and just sever a major artery. Don’t worry though, I
have the hands of a surgeon so you’ll get to see your heart beat
it’s last.” I said and loosened his bonds around the wrist ever
so slightly so that I could turn his palms up before tying the bonds
back down again.
“First
though your hands will have to be secured.” I add and go to get a
hammer and nails. The nails were rusted and I usually use them for
fish. When I got back the young man looked at the nails and screamed,
though the gag muffled the sound beautifully and his complexion paled
in a manner that was so incredibly satisfying. I removed the gag and
his scream for help was music to my ears. He began to sob as I placed
the nail on the center of his palm. He pleaded for me to stop through
his tears. With a smile I hit the nail with a good amount of force,
sending the point into his palm. Blood flowed freely from the wound
around the shank of the nail. The young man screamed as I hammered it
through his palm and into the wood of the chair. The beautiful
crimson elixir flowing freely to the floor around the arm of the
chair.
Once
both hands had the same treatment the young man was pleading weakly
through his heavy tears. I took the knife I had laying on the table,
my favorite knife and slowly ran the blade across the base of the
finger I was going to remove. I pulled the knife smoothly along the
finger cutting into the flesh in a slight manner until the curve in
the blade shifted and caught the side, it was then that I increased
pressure. The finger came fitfully but the blade did its job well.
The young man yelled with all his strength and tried the bonds as
much as he could, the pain must have been unbearable. As he sobbed I
asked him, “Do you want me to spare you some pain?” The young man
enthusiastically, well as enthusiastically as you can given his
circumstances, said he would.
“Alright
then. I’ll spare you some pain. I’ll be generous to you since
you’ve been such a good sport.” I told him and smiled. The young
man relaxed a small bit and asked if I would let him go, promising
that he wouldn’t tell a soul. It’s not that I didn’t believe
the young gentleman, men in his position are unusually honest. I just
hadn’t finished my fun with him. So I replied with a smirk and a
wave of the knife. He pleaded once more for me to just let him go and
I pressed the knife slowly to his throat. He began silently sobbing
again.
“You
get your wish, your pain will end soon.” I say and pull my arm back
and with a quick swing of my arm the young man’s throat was opened
and a pink mist began flowing forth. There was also a soft gurgle
from the newly opened wound, in seconds the young man had breathed
his last. Now all that was left to do was dispose of the body.
I
drug the body, wrapped in plastic bags to a spot in the woods behind
the house. I had dug the hole about seven feet as to avoid many of
the animals digging him up and the trash bags were also a small
preventive measure for the same reason, though more so they didn’t
get to him before he was entirely buried then for when he
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