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Torture Scene

by WaitingForLife


He came to with a thudding headache, eyes closed against the dull pain. The back of his skull throbbed like a whore's heart; he bit out a curse and moved his hand to inspect the damage – except that it didn't move. Something was restraining his arms. His legs, too, were immobilized, as he noticed when he tried to get up. To get up... so he was lying prone. The violent hum of electricity streaking through the air assaulted his battered head, calling forth a grimace of agony. A steady dripping echoed all around him, but it seemed to come from a single source.

A runny tap, or a leak in the roof.

How long had he been out cold? His lips were parched and hunger growled in his stomach. He cracked open his eyes to better percieve how deep in shit he was. Blackness continued to engulf him. A tremor of panic vibrated in his core. He was blind, sightless, motionless, restrained. He was as good as dead, a lamb awaiting slaughter. Poultry breathing its last lungful before the bloodied knife would steal it forever more. That slight tremor increased in intensity until he physically shook in time with it.

It's all a dream, all a dream. Only a nightmare. I'll wake up any second now. Just a dream. Not real, not real. Not real!

He tried to wrench his arms free and felt narrow straps dig into his flesh. He cried out in pain and kept battering at the straps with his forearms. They sawed in deeper and drew blood, but he was too far gone to notice it. His every instinct forced him to fight this unseen enemy, to escape these bonds, to run free once again.

He snapped his head back, the impact dizzying him for a moment. He hit the metallic table again and again with the back of his head, pounding away at his restraints. He yelled out, a shout mingled with fury and panic. The stuffy air invaded his mouth, causing him to gag. How hadn't he noticed before? The metallic scent of blood mixed with the stench of excretion, like fingers of decay forcing their way down his throat and lodging in his heart.

His strength was beginning to ebb; his poundings came at longer intervals; his feet beat the painstakingly slow ryhtym of a burial march. He drew in ragged breath after another, inviting the foul fingers back down his throat again and again – a demented adult film of sickening proportions.

A squeak from rusty hinges; someone was coming in – or going out, he realized. They were leaving him there to die of hunger and thirst.

No! No, no, no, no! Why? What have I done? Let me free, let me fly again!

He tried to cry for help, but his throat was raw from shouting and his lips were long-deprived of liquid; a gasp bubbled from his lips instead. The distinct sound of swishing cloth reached his ears. It was coming closer. Closer, closer, and then past him, the faint footsteps receding into the other direction.

”Come... ba-...” he croaked as loud as he could. ”No... Don't...”

He listened for an excruciating moment. They weren't coming back. They had left him to rot, to die in the darkness. They had left him hanging over the open maw of Satan, suspended from chains. His tortured throat let out a pathetic cry as he attacked his bonds with the remainder of his strength. He would get free, he would. He'd escape. He'd walk in the sun again. See his wife again.

Madeline...

He thrust upwards with every muscle he had, gritting his teeth when the straps tightened around his form, trying to overcome his captivity. He could feel the joinings groan in strain and he pushed harder. Hope. It existed. Just a little more... A few inches. One of the joinings popped out of its socket, cleanly as a twisted arm. He clenched his teeth harder. A few more and he'd be free.

”Hey Doc, it seems our patient is awake,” someone said above him, her voice brimming with excitement.

A set of dragging footsteps echoed into his struggles. A doctor? They'd set him free.

They'll help me. Trust the doctors, doctors help. They do. Help. Help!

He let his aching body collapse onto the metallic surface,breathing heavily.

The footsteps had stopped. He heard soft breathing. Something nudged his hip painfully, a questioning prod from the shadows; he shirked away from the sadistic touch the best he could.

”Hmm. It does seem so.” This voice was crisp and cool, all warmth drained by lack of compassion. He wasn't sure if the speaker could even be human. ”Well, let us gaze upon his visage.”

The implications of this request hadn't the time to register in his mind before a hard fist wrenched the rough bag from his head, ripping out some of his hair in the process. He cried out as bright illumination wormed its way through his eyes and into his brain, eating away at his nerves, biting them raw. Blistering scabs were ripped open inside his head as the parastic rays of light feasted upon his flesh, flaying him bloody from the inside. Through the haze of agony, he heard the two voices conferring above his prone form.

”-ugliest motherfucker I've seen in a while."

The inhumane voice answered to the female, ”Who are we to judge? They all look the same on the inside with all this useless covering gone. Take away all the decorations and we're all as ugly. We hide demons devoid of conscience inside ourselves; we keep them hidden in the secretive corners of our hearts, livers, lungs. It's our job to bring them into day light, to let them burn in the purge of the illumination. Which is exactly what he must be going through now.” The cold voice grew an egde of lust. ”His hidden demons are contorted in spasms of agony as we speak. They twist and writhe in time with the physical spasms of his body. See him squirm and groan! That is his darker side answering to the caress of light.”

He gasped and groaned, eyes rolled back into his head. He tried to close his eyes, but someone was keeping them open. Froth danced on his lips, and his whole form shivered in faint spasms, all the fight gone from him. Sweet oblivion slowly accepted him into its grim grasp; his body went limp.


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14 Reviews


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Wed Oct 04, 2017 8:32 pm
PenmanshipPriority wrote a review...



My response to this Short Story may be very late, but true works of quality can wait years before they get discovered by the right people!

I'd like to say how grateful I am to have read something that has inspired future formats of story descriptions I have continued to use when having 'imagery' as a dominant theme.

The use of imagery in this particular piece is phenomenal.Your overall writing style runs smoothly and is easy to relate to the pain and suffering of the main character throughout. I would definitely advise you to proof read future posts, but by the time I upload my comment, you have probably taken on board all given feedback.

Below are a couple of chosen sentences and phrases I thought could be better with given feedback, but this is sparse compared to the amount of praise I have for this quick read.


"A runny tap, or a leak in the roof."

Adding a question mark to this sentence could add a better sense of vulnerability to the character, showing just how blind the he is to the situation as well as the reader.

"Poultry breathing its last lungful before the bloodied knife would steal it forever more."

The imagery chosen for the 'lamb awaiting slaughter' is relatable and has been used before as a popular simile ; It feels like you've picked another animal at random that can be killed by slitting it's throat.I personally can't picture 'poultry breathing' very heavily before
it's killed.

"They'll help me. Trust the doctors, doctors help. They do. Help. Help!"

Dr. Hannibal Lecter? Dr. Channard? Dr. Beverly Mantle? Dr. Heiter?
Apologies if you haven't heard of any of these examples, my point is that doctors aren't a relatable type of person to put all trust in - especially in horror films and hostile situations.
Another point - when the women refers to the character as a 'patient', baring in mind his current restrained situation, I highly doubt he will be thinking of safety and aid.

There are also a couple of spelling mistakes throughout the piece of work, but under timed conditions it's definitely not a massive problem and can be fixed. I presume with your choice of vocabulary you are more than capable of spell-checking your future pieces.

Thanks for the opportunity to read something very original and inspiring,

PenmanshipPriority

If you wish to speak to me in regards to my review or in general, feel free! (:




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Mon Sep 05, 2011 2:24 pm
Twit wrote a review...



Hello!

The back of his skull throbbed like a whore's heart


Not sure why a whore’s heart? Traditionally the consensus seems to be that whores don’t have hearts.


A steady dripping echoed all around him, but it seemed to come from a single source.

A runny tap, or a leak in the roof.


It feels like the bolded bit should be a question. Making it so would add some vulnerability to the character as well.


He was as good as dead, a lamb awaiting slaughter. Poultry breathing its last lungful before the bloodied knife would steal it forever more.


While I like having a second simile—it makes for a better rhythm—I don’t like the poultry image. The lamb is a good, though rather old image, but I never really think of poultry breathing, and surely you’d use a clean knife to kill a bird? Another reason why it doesn’t work well is because there’s more than one way to kill poultry. You can wring its neck, pull its head off, break its neck with a broomstick, cut its head off with an axe... It’s not as concrete as a lamb, because when you kill a lamb, I’m guessing it’s always with some kind of sharp thingie, which is the kind of threatening simile you want.



He sawed in deeper and drew blood, but he had walked too far into the abyss of panic to notice it.


This feels a bit laboured. Try something less fancy.


His strength was beginning to ebb; his poundings came at longer intervals; his feet beat the painstakingly slow ryhtym of a burial march.


Should be “rhythm”.


No! No, no, no, no! Why? What have I done?! Let me free, let me fly again!


Pet Peeve: I don’t like using more than one punctuation mark. It looks cheap, and as though you don’t trust the strength of your own dialogue.




Closer, closer, and then past him, the faint footsteps receeding into the other direction.


Should be “receding.” Did you not run this through a spell-check?


They had left him to rot, to die in the darkness. They had left him hanging over the open maw of Satan, suspended from chains.


The bolded bit reminds me of the abyss image—it’s too much, too fancy. I mean, great for the Dean/Supernatural image evoked here, but “maw of Satan” is too purple.


A set of dragging footsteps echoed into his struggles. A doctor? They'd set him free.

They'll help me. Trust the doctors, doctors help. They do. Help. Help!


I’ve watched too many horror films with crazy mad doctors to take this thought seriously. Still, maybe this guy hasn’t watched many horror films.


Something nudged his hip painfully, a questioning prod from the shadows; he shirked away from the sadistic touch the best he could.


He’s just been going on about how much he likes and trusts the doctors—why would he immediately label a touch as sadistic?


This voice was crisp and cool, all warmth sucked by incompassion.


This isn’t a word.


”Well, let us gaze upon his visage.”


Buhwahat? Who speaks like this?


He cried out as bright illumination wormed its way through his eyes and into his brain, eating away at his nerves, biting them raw. Blistering scabs were ripped open inside his head as the parastic rays of light feasted upon his flesh, flaying him bloody from the inside.


Because of your previous purple imagery, I’m not sure if this is a description of how much pain he’s in, or whether the light is actually parasitic and literally eating his flesh.



”-ugliest motherfucker I've seen in a while,” the female voice ended something she had been saying.


The bolded bit is redundant. The ellipsis dash shows us that she’s finishing her thought.


The inhumane voice answered to the female, ”Who are we to judge? They all look the same on the inside with all this useless covering gone. Take away all the decorations and we're all as ugly. We hide demons devoid of conscience inside ourselves; we keep them hidden in the secretive corners of our hearts, livers, lungs. It's our job to bring them into day light, to let them burn in the purge of the illumination. Which is exactly what he must be going through now.” The cold voice grew an egde of lust. ”His hidden demons are contorted in spasms of agony as we speak. They twist and writhe in time with the physical spasms of his body. See him squirm and groan! That is his darker side answering to the caress of light.”


Really, really not liking the inhuman voice’s style of speaking. It doesn’t sound like a real person; it sounds stilted and forced and the whole speech about inner demons just reminds me of those movies where the baddie monologues his whole evil plan to the captured hero. It’s blah.

---
Hai!

You say this was a writing exercise, so I presume this is a stand-alone piece and you’re not going to add anything else to this.

Generally your writing style is good. It runs smoothly and it’s easy to read. However, some of your imagery—and your wording—is clunky and laboured. You dance around the main point with imagery that doesn’t really suit instead of just coming out and saying it. I find myself doing this as well, because sometimes I forget that it’s okay to just say something straight-out and it doesn’t all have to be descriptive or pretty-sounding.

With that in mind, your dialogue really needs work. I couldn’t connect to any of the inhuman voice’s dialogue. It sounded like a scripted speech from a third-rate speech-writer. I’d be a lot more disturbed by it if it sounded at least half-way human. Human psychos are so much more freaky than crazy ones, because with the human ones, it’s like, “How can I tell this guy apart from my neighbour, from Joe Bloggs in the street, from my teachers, from my classmates? Is there anything that sets him apart from me?” With the crazies, it’s easier to draw a distinction there because they’re so obviously not normal.

I hope this makes sense. PM or Wall me if you have any questions!

-twit




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Mon Sep 05, 2011 12:53 pm
Noelle wrote a review...



Hi there!

This is a really good piece. You did a good job describing this, I could feel the pain of the main character. You also did a good job getting inside the character's head. I like how you added his thoughts in there a couple times. It really gives us a look inside his head so we're not stuck just looking at the situation in the torturers' perspective.

I do think you could have added a bit more description in this. Where are they? Are they in a torture chamber? A hospital? A secret lair? I know that the man being tortured can't really sit there and take in his settings, but the reader should have a little someting to go off of, to paint a picture in their own head. Also, you may need a little more background information in this. At the end you kind of got into it with the people talking, but I still don't really know who these people are. What do they want with the main character? And what has he done that he deserves to be tortured? Go a little more in depth.

Overall this is really great. If you just add a little more information about the characters and the situation, it'll be amazing. Keep writing!





A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.
— Franz Kafka