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Please Just Torture Me to Death

Nightmare | March 9, 2011

Running through town, passing shops, speeding across streets, around corners and down an alleyway. No matter where I went or how fast I ran they were still behind me.

Two twin men in silver and red uniforms with helmets and mirrored sunglasses. One had a long rifle or shotgun, and the other wore a sidearm and a couple of knives on his belt. They dogged me with mechanical resilience while I panted hard and stumbled along feverishly.

After awhile my sides burned and ached. If I was caught something terrible would happen — worse than death.

Sprinting through a neighborhood I cut across someone's yard, vaulted a fence and fled through another yard. Emerging on the next street over I ran down a few houses. On the right a strange house with the entire front opened like a garage. It was dark inside so I ducked in. In the dim light two people were waiting. My pursuers walked up and stood in the entrance.

One of those waiting looked like a mad scientist with shocking white hair, high cheekbones and crazy dilated eyes. But I knew he was the boss of a criminal organization that I had crossed. The woman next to him looked like his evil female counterpart. I was completely exhausted and collapsed into a chair.

He smiled a wicked grin and said something of an ironic greeting. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I noticed the house was a single large room filled with rusty torture equipment. Iron cages, spiky objects, something that looked like a rack or operating table, and an antique electric chair with metal skullcap dangling askew. Propped up along the walls were old spears, swords and claw-like things. Strewn around on the dusty floor were electrical cables, shards of glass and sharp twisted scrap metal draped with spider webs.

I scanned this scene without feeling anything. So tired and resigned to my fate, I just wanted to die.

The boss said "Where shall we start?" One of the uniformed men took out a foldable saw and grabbed my arm. "Let's saw off his limbs!" He began to make sawing motions but didn't use much force. The serrated teeth only made white marks on my skin and tore at some of the fine hairs. He just wanted to scare me.

"You're doing it wrong," I told him. "Hold the blade still and saw harder in just one place." I grasped the blade and worked it so that it started to cut into my arm. The saw's work made a neat slice but even down 1/8" into my skin there was no blood. The man still sluggishly holding the handle looked at me kind of incredulously and withdrew the saw.

His partner was sitting on a bench behind me cleaning his shotgun or rifle. "Let's just shoot him in the stomach and watch him die." The chamber was open and a huge dirty and slightly dented silver bullet sat inside. It must have been 1" in diameter. I volunteered to sit on the far side of the room and he could shoot me at point-blank range and watch my guts splatter against the wall. His wiping of the rifle's stock slowed to a stop and he peered at me as his partner had done. At this point I just wanted them to get started and do whatever they wanted so I could die at some point. This indecision and waiting was a torture worse than death.

"He's going into the chair!" This was the boss speaking and gesturing dramatically towards the old electric chair with cobwebs on it. "That could be fun," I drawled. "Quick and easy."

But the two uniformed men looked like they weren't having fun anymore.

It all happened very smoothly. The boss turned towards the chair and his woman followed him with her eyes. The twin men briskly walked out into the sunlight and up the street. In the few seconds when nobody was looking at me, I ran out of the house and down the street in the opposite direction.

Tags   Fear   Violence   Death

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