Imprisoned (disturbing content)
Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2012 2:10 am
A note to the originators of the English language: Gender neutral pronouns would have been really nice.
Edit: I removed all the usage of present tense I could find, as I meant for this to be in past tense, 3rd person. Also fixed my idiot blunders with auditory cues, though some still remain since the observer (aka the reader) is still able to hear perfectly well what's going on.
♥♥♥♥♥
For Misha.
♥♥♥♥♥
Liquid dripped somewhere in the blackness of the basement. It's lone occupant focused on the dark void in front of her, trying desperately to wriggle her hands free of the leather strap that bound her wrists behind her back. The leather bit deeply into her flesh, but the pain went unnoticed in favor of the pain that screamed from her crushed fingers.
It had been done to silence her.
After she had been bound to the high backed chair in which she sits, she had tried to negotiate with her captor. To beg for freedom, for forgiveness. Her efforts were in vain, and served only to enrage her captor. As punishment her tormentor had taken a hammer and beaten her hands until she could no longer scream in agony.
How long had she been here? There was no way to tell. When her captor was not present she was left in total darkness. Not even the sound of traffic passing by on the street above could reach down here, in the bowels of the building. No windows, only a door at the top of a long flight of stairs recessed into the wall in front of her. When the captor was present, a single, bare bulb illuminated her prison; a room, not large but not small either, longer than it was wide. Cold and bleak. Lifeless.
A small wooden table stood in front of her chair, on it was placed her meals. Cold rice, sometimes smelling so strongly of ammonia that it causes her to retch. If ever she refused to eat, her captor would fly into a rage, forcing her face downward into the bowl until she had no choice but to eat or to suffocate.
A clock on the wall above the stairs told her the times when the captor paid visits. Nine and six. Morning or evening was unknown, there was no way to reference the exact period of time, but it was always nine and six, no earlier, no later.
How many times had she seen the face of that clock? In the beginning she had tried to keep track, but it proved futile. Ten times? A hundred? A thousand? No way to keep track except by memory, and her memory was becoming unreliable. Lack of sleep and lack of true nourishment were to blame, but sleep came in short, unsatisfying fits, and was often broken by the arrival of her tormentor bearing what little sustenance she was allowed.
Sometimes she tried will herself to sleep, but the pain from her bonds and mangled hands, more often than not, made sleep elusive.
She had tried once to tip the chair on it's side, to gain some semblance of comfort if only by stretching her tired frame upon the cold cement, but the chair was securely fastened to the floor. She had also once tried to reposition herself on the chair so as to stretch her body out, her backside on the edge of the seat and her shoulders bracing against the back, but she had slipped too far downward and slid off of the seat of the chair entirely with her arms still securely fastened behind the chair. Righting herself from that position had proved impossible, and she had been forced to wait for her captor to free her from the terribly uncomfortable pose.
The woman took no note of the sound of a bolt being drawn, of the door screeching in protest as it's rusting hinges were forced to move. Sudden light brought her thoughts back to the present. The light blinded her, and it took several long, slow blinks to force her eyes to adjust to the her newly brightened surroundings. The clock above the stairs read six.
The captor made short work of the wooden steps, taking the steps two at a time, skipping down the stairs. There was something different about this visit, and it took a moment before the woman realized what the difference was. Her captor carried a duffel, the straps slung over one shoulder. The duffel bounced slightly as the captor skipped lightly across the space between the stairs and where she sat.
"Hello! How are you?"
She could only look up at her captor, could only plead silently for release. An end to the torment. Any end.
The captor set the bowl of rice on the table in front of her. She ate obediently, to do otherwise would bring retribution. When the bowl was empty, it was tossed carelessly to the floor where it shattered. The woman took no notice of the sharp crack of the pottery against the floor, only continued to plead silently for mercy.
"I have a surprise for you!" the captor cried, voice cheerful. The duffel was swung around and landed on the small table with a thump. The zipper drawn back. The woman showed no curiosity until the captor's hand reached into the duffel and began to reveal the contents.
Time slowed. First a fistful of short, brown hair. A brow. Brown eyes. A mouth frozen in a silent scream. Ragged, torn flesh where neck met shoulders.
The duffel was swept away and the grisly present set in it's place.
"Now you can be together!~ Forever!~ Whahahahaha~"
The laughter went unnoticed. The woman's eyes were riveted to the face of the one she once loved. Hopes dashed. The torment would continue. Until the end.
Edit: I removed all the usage of present tense I could find, as I meant for this to be in past tense, 3rd person. Also fixed my idiot blunders with auditory cues, though some still remain since the observer (aka the reader) is still able to hear perfectly well what's going on.
♥♥♥♥♥
For Misha.
♥♥♥♥♥
Liquid dripped somewhere in the blackness of the basement. It's lone occupant focused on the dark void in front of her, trying desperately to wriggle her hands free of the leather strap that bound her wrists behind her back. The leather bit deeply into her flesh, but the pain went unnoticed in favor of the pain that screamed from her crushed fingers.
It had been done to silence her.
After she had been bound to the high backed chair in which she sits, she had tried to negotiate with her captor. To beg for freedom, for forgiveness. Her efforts were in vain, and served only to enrage her captor. As punishment her tormentor had taken a hammer and beaten her hands until she could no longer scream in agony.
How long had she been here? There was no way to tell. When her captor was not present she was left in total darkness. Not even the sound of traffic passing by on the street above could reach down here, in the bowels of the building. No windows, only a door at the top of a long flight of stairs recessed into the wall in front of her. When the captor was present, a single, bare bulb illuminated her prison; a room, not large but not small either, longer than it was wide. Cold and bleak. Lifeless.
A small wooden table stood in front of her chair, on it was placed her meals. Cold rice, sometimes smelling so strongly of ammonia that it causes her to retch. If ever she refused to eat, her captor would fly into a rage, forcing her face downward into the bowl until she had no choice but to eat or to suffocate.
A clock on the wall above the stairs told her the times when the captor paid visits. Nine and six. Morning or evening was unknown, there was no way to reference the exact period of time, but it was always nine and six, no earlier, no later.
How many times had she seen the face of that clock? In the beginning she had tried to keep track, but it proved futile. Ten times? A hundred? A thousand? No way to keep track except by memory, and her memory was becoming unreliable. Lack of sleep and lack of true nourishment were to blame, but sleep came in short, unsatisfying fits, and was often broken by the arrival of her tormentor bearing what little sustenance she was allowed.
Sometimes she tried will herself to sleep, but the pain from her bonds and mangled hands, more often than not, made sleep elusive.
She had tried once to tip the chair on it's side, to gain some semblance of comfort if only by stretching her tired frame upon the cold cement, but the chair was securely fastened to the floor. She had also once tried to reposition herself on the chair so as to stretch her body out, her backside on the edge of the seat and her shoulders bracing against the back, but she had slipped too far downward and slid off of the seat of the chair entirely with her arms still securely fastened behind the chair. Righting herself from that position had proved impossible, and she had been forced to wait for her captor to free her from the terribly uncomfortable pose.
The woman took no note of the sound of a bolt being drawn, of the door screeching in protest as it's rusting hinges were forced to move. Sudden light brought her thoughts back to the present. The light blinded her, and it took several long, slow blinks to force her eyes to adjust to the her newly brightened surroundings. The clock above the stairs read six.
The captor made short work of the wooden steps, taking the steps two at a time, skipping down the stairs. There was something different about this visit, and it took a moment before the woman realized what the difference was. Her captor carried a duffel, the straps slung over one shoulder. The duffel bounced slightly as the captor skipped lightly across the space between the stairs and where she sat.
"Hello! How are you?"
She could only look up at her captor, could only plead silently for release. An end to the torment. Any end.
The captor set the bowl of rice on the table in front of her. She ate obediently, to do otherwise would bring retribution. When the bowl was empty, it was tossed carelessly to the floor where it shattered. The woman took no notice of the sharp crack of the pottery against the floor, only continued to plead silently for mercy.
"I have a surprise for you!" the captor cried, voice cheerful. The duffel was swung around and landed on the small table with a thump. The zipper drawn back. The woman showed no curiosity until the captor's hand reached into the duffel and began to reveal the contents.
Time slowed. First a fistful of short, brown hair. A brow. Brown eyes. A mouth frozen in a silent scream. Ragged, torn flesh where neck met shoulders.
The duffel was swept away and the grisly present set in it's place.
"Now you can be together!~ Forever!~ Whahahahaha~"
The laughter went unnoticed. The woman's eyes were riveted to the face of the one she once loved. Hopes dashed. The torment would continue. Until the end.