DAY 1
I awoke drenched in sweat, muscles exerted from straining. My hazy vision took in the surrounding area quickly, as there was not much to see. I was in a small room, a small light above me. There was a pane of one way glass ahead of me, and a small door next to it. The whole room was colored a darkish grey, even the door. The room was filled with nothing but me and the light, the walls condensing in on me. I looked down to see a sturdy gag tied against my mouth that looked like it was made from ripped Tshirts. Farther down were my hands, tied in the same white fabric even tighter. My legs seemed to a be a bit loose, but the dim lighting didn’t allow me to truly see my legs. I thrashed my head around, trying to shake the gag. It was to no avail, but doing so let me see somewhat behind me and what I was tied to. As expected, there was nothing behind me. But, I was tied to a plastic light grey folding chair, with cold black sturdy metal beams supporting it up. After fully exasperated from attempting to escape, I noticed my attire. I was in a sleeveless undershirt, and wearing only boxers on my legs. The first thing I noticed about this was that it wasn’t what I was wearing last. But what was I wearing last? I seemed to… forget. I strained to think of my last memory when the door opened.
It slowly creaked, showing darkness in its mists. Out stepped a man in a similar wearing of mine, plain undershirt and boxers. He walked ahead to me, and I tried to scream out to him through the gag. He kneeled and looked at me with his dark blue eyes, almost grey. His face seemed just, worn out. He had a beard on his cheeks and chin that looked like a bald man’s first growing hairs. He seemed to have a small scar above his left eye, crossing through his almost non existent eyebrow. The rest of his face seemed undamaged, and his buzz cutted head shined under the fluorescent light. And he slipped a knife out through his pocket.
I was getting excited now, as this man was here to help me, to cut my gags and restraints off and free me. But that wasn’t what was happening. He put the knife to my arm, on the side, and slowly rubbed the cool shank across my flesh. The knife seemed standard, it had a shiny iron blade and its ivory green hilt seemed smooth and unscathed. I looked at him with concerned, yet happy eyes. His blank expression curved into a smile. That’s when he started, he grabbed my wrist with his burly hand and held it up. I faded into a confused look which quickly went to panic as he brought the knife onto the start of my index finger. He held me steady, and despite my resistance started sawing at my finger. I tried to scream, the gag muffling my hollers as blood spewed out of my new wound. He kept sawing slowly until he hit bone and broke it, then with a sharp jab the rest of my pointer finger came flying off in a slash of blood. He stood up with blood on his arms and chest, not caring in the slightest. He took his knife and put it to his shirt, cleaning off the blood. My whimpered cries slowly succeeded as hot tears streamed down my red cheeks. He again grabbed my limp, cold hand and held it up. My screams intensified as he brought the blade down onto my thumb. In another gory display he sliced off another finger, again coated in my dripping blood. He then looked at my figure, as it was probably pitiful and weak, then walked away without a word - leaving me to writhe.
DAY 2
Today a different man came in. He was smaller than the original person, but had a similar face, only lacking the scar and beard. Another difference was that he had a full head of blonde hair, comparing to the other’s buzz cutted brown. When he walked in I tensed and prepared for the worst, but to my surprise he wasn’t here to hurt me. He started wrapping bandages and putting alcohol on my wounds, though I painfully noted that throughout the procedure he didn’t once use anesthetic or any numbing. After finishing he held out a red plastic cup of some kind of food, though it looked disgusting as it was. He rattled it and raised his bushy eyebrows at me implying if I wanted some. I looked at him worriedly and shook my head, as even though I hadn’t eaten in a day I was thinking it was some kind of cruel trick. He gruffly walked away, leaving all of his supplies behind. When he came back he was holding a funnel and the same cup of food. He forced my head back at moved the gag up. I tried to scream, but only a gurgling sound came out before he shoved the funnel down my throat and continued to pour the food in. It was more horrid than I could imagine, and tasted like shit and dirt (Which, thanks to its color, made me wonder if that’s what it actually was). But really, I was in no position to complain, and after I finished the ‘food’, and started screaming he shoved the funnel out abruptly and put my gag back on.
After finishing he sat down and started to eat his lunch, giving me an impression he was more laid back than the first guy. He ate some sort of sandwich and drank from the bottle of liquor that he had used on my cuts. After a minute or two he looked over at me and shook the bottle of alcohol in a similar manner in how he shook the food. I nodded gloomily, thinking how I really needed a drink then. He splashed the rest of the bottle on me, and it stung my raw flesh. After finishing his sandwich he gathered his stuff and left, leaving me wet and dripping.
After what seemed like hours after the blonde man had left, another person entered the room. He looked like if the first man that had visited me had long hair, and a thicker beard. When he entered he kept a distant, blank expression on and unsheathed his machete. I started screaming against the gag again, which didn’t help at all. He grabbed my wounded hand with extreme power, and lined up my three remaining fingers. After bobbling the machete back and forth like a gold player lining up for the shot, he rammed through them, creating a spray of blood that splattered around the walls. At that point, I fainted into blackness - my last thought being “That’s a lot of blood”
DAY 3
When I awoke the fingers on my other hand had disappeared too. All of the stubs were covered in bloodied bandages, and the blood seemed warm. As I looked around the room I saw that someone had cleaned the blood off the walls, yet not the stinging liquor off my face or the blood from my shirt and underwear. By now I was completely drenched from head to toe in sweat, blood, and alcohol. I struggled against my gag, ready to heave. It was a while before someone came in again, or really anything happened. During the time I was still blacking in and out of consciousness, so my memory is still foggy.
About a few hours after awaking the blonde man came in again. He pinched my nose back and force fed me again, making sure the food was horrid and the funnel was jammed in painfully. After finishing feeding me, he repeatedly punched me in the mouth and face. My head bounced back and forth like a speed bag, blood, spit, and phlegm flying by from every shot in a gruesome mix. After beating me to hell he left me missing 4 teeth and ragged. He released the gag and I immediately heaved, throwing up the breakfast he’d served me and the teeth he’d knocked off. The throw-up spewed all over his shirt, and I smiled a toothless grin at the fact I’d caused him discomfort. He jammed the funnel down my throat again, ready for the perfect revenge plan on my. He started throwing my vomit down the hole, his hands wet and gunky with the undigested food he’d served me. My eyes bulged as stomach acid returned down my neck, and as I tried my best to keep the flow of retched food at bay. After all of the food had been returned back to my digestive track, he elbowed the funnel down my throat, hard. It hurt like hell, my trachea sore and ripped. And he chuckled as he pulled the force-feeder out from my blood and vomit covered lips. He left, leaving me in a post-traumatic state and letting me rub my tongue across my teeth.
After about another hour later someone else came in, and again my memory was foggy during that time so I don’t remember features about him. He immediately rammed my neck back and pointed my head at the bright fluorescent light above me. He opened my mouth with a smack, and pulled out a scalpel like thing from his pocket, and got to work. He chipped out all of my teeth, and in my weak state I could do nothing, not even scream. After leaving my mouth toothless, he started to slowly rip at my tongue. All I could feel was a slight tugging, but even so I gurgled my best at the man. The blood filled my jaw once the rest of my tongue snapped off. He picked it out of my mouth and in a stream of blood heaved it across the room. He got up and left, turning out the light as he walked away.
DAY 4
This was the day when I truly thought I would die. I was grateful even to awake, not sure if I had drowned in my own blood from the previous day. In a quick examination I saw that my tongue was still splattered halfway across the room on the wall, and the bottom of my seat was still a lake of blood and piss. You may think it seemed weird, but they didn’t let me go to the bathroom at all, so I actually wet myself. It didn’t really feel any different than the spit and blood, just warmer at first. But anyway, when I awoke I was pretty sure my death was near. My wounds were really serious, and I must’ve lost gallons of blood. I looked over when I heard a electronic beep, and saw an IV stand next to me. I looked around, hoping that someone had found this hellhole and sent in the military, or that my capturers had abandoned me and someone had found me and had taken me to the hospital. But no, I was still strapped to a chair and still in a dark grey room, realising how stupid I’d been to think that I’d been rescued when I had just saw my tongue meters away. After a few minutes of being awake, as routine the blonde man came in. He untied my gag and set the funnel in my mouth, I was so weak and just wanted to eat something. But he didn’t pour down food. This day, he poured down broken glass, and instead of the moist, crumbly shit I was expecting, I got warm, sharp glass. Once it made contact, I started screaming. The glass slowly cut down through my throat, just big enough to fit through without making any fatal cuts. Blood and saliva built up around my mouth, and the shards slowly stopped coming through my disgusting mouth. The blonde man pulled up the funnel, and I looked down at my stomach thinking how the glass might rip through it as saliva dripped from my toothless gums. I’m not sure how long I looked down, but when I looked back up, the man was gone.
About eight hours later another man came in. He had broad shoulders and big arms, and I immediately recognized him as the first man that had met me. He turned to show me a long bonesaw in his right hand, and I would’ve been screaming if I had the strength. He knelt over and started to slowly saw at my feet. I again blacked out, and now I’ve come to. I’m noticing three things now, that the lights are off, there is a sea of blood underneath me, and both my feet are gone. What would be next? Melted glass down my back? Needles in my eyes? I truly don’t know, but as I see the door open, I know that I am going to die here. And they are going to make sure that the last living moments of my life are pure hell.
Written by ThisIsLucid
Content is available under CC BY-SA
