Post by Dahak on May 30, 2005 1:18:26 GMT -5
Here's a short story I wrote recently. Comments and constructive criticism welcome.
My first memory is of the house burning. I was maybe seven years old then. They dragged us out of bed and stood us in front of the building. One at a time they marched our family members in front of us and murdered them; a single bullet to the head each. At the time this seemed horribly cruel to me, but looking back now I see they were being very merciful compared to how they usually do it. Once they killed them all they threw their corpses back into the house and caught it on fire. They wanted to make it absolutely clear that we had nothing to go back to. My brother Jacob cried; I was in too much shock to do anything but watch numbly.
“We are doing you a favor.” The man I would later come to know as Muro told us as he paced in front of us. “If you lived your life here, you would have been nobodies. We are giving you the shining opportunity to become something much greater.” He wore a smile on his face that conveyed arrogance and cruelty. I hated that smile. I hated him. Once the house burned enough to satisfy Muro, my brother and me were bound and thrown in a back of a truck with little ceremony.
“We won’t let them get away with this, sister.” My brother promised. He was ten then, (or was it eleven?) Tears were still streaming down his face. For some reason, his fiery red hair stood out even more than usual then. “We’ll make them pay.” All I could do was nod. The trip took what felt like an eternity. I couldn’t tell how long it took. I just remember riding in the truck, then a plane, and then another truck. It could have taken twelve hours or three days. I spent the entire time digesting what happened and dwelling on all the horrible things they were bound to do to us once we reached wherever they were taking us.
When the vehicle stopped, I was thrown over some person’s shoulder and was carried like luggage. I was too terrified to say anything or even move. I was dropped on a small cot and left there for what I imagine was an hour. After that time passed Muro removed my binds. “Welcome to your new home. You are now part of our family. We will teach you to become death herself. The better you behave, the better you will be treated and the more liberties you will be granted.” He was still wearing that smile I hated so much. He always wore it - as if it were part of his uniform. I felt no remorse when someone accidentally put mercury in his food.
My memories of the following years are foggy. I think the mind conditioning came next. I don’t remember much of it; I just remember being in a white room full of people wearing lab coats and feeling like someone was scraping the inside of my skull with a bottle brush. It’s amazing that I remember at all. I’m sure they didn’t intend me to remember. I should probably feel outraged that they did this to me, but all I feel is resigned. Maybe that’s proof of how effective the mind conditioning is.
I remember the raping. Maybe twice a week some soldier would come to my small room and have their way with me. I learned fast not to make noise when they were doing it; no one would ever come to help and all it would accomplish was making them angry. One of them broke my jaw before I figured that out. I made sure to memorize each of their faces.
When they finally trusted me to keep a knife with me I hunted down every last one of them and killed them. I made sure they suffered for a long time before they finally died. No one ever came to help them when they screamed either. It felt good to kill them; I savored their screams and reveled in the sheer pain and horror on their faces as I slowly cut pieces off them and showed it to them. I could hear a piece of me that resided in the dark corner of my mind screaming her revulsion of what I become. Perhaps that is the only part of that seven year old that still survives in me.
Once my old bedmates started dying in grisly manners, new ones stopped coming. My list of targets was quickly cleaned out, but my desire to give out pain was not sated. What free time I had from training I used to volunteer in the torture room. The torture master was somewhat perplexed at my request to participate in inquisitions. Once I proved myself a willing learner, he agreed to take me in as a part time apprentice. It took mere months to learn all they had to offer, and personally, I found their methods rather uncreative. Soon it was I giving them suggestions on how to squeeze information out of unwilling victims instead of vice versa.
By then, my training was complete and I was an official member of this society. They even paid me for the jobs I completed for them. I didn’t know what to do with the money however. Everything I needed was provided and I never developed an appreciation for any substances the other members seemed to be addicted to, so I merely saved it.
My first memory is of the house burning. I was maybe seven years old then. They dragged us out of bed and stood us in front of the building. One at a time they marched our family members in front of us and murdered them; a single bullet to the head each. At the time this seemed horribly cruel to me, but looking back now I see they were being very merciful compared to how they usually do it. Once they killed them all they threw their corpses back into the house and caught it on fire. They wanted to make it absolutely clear that we had nothing to go back to. My brother Jacob cried; I was in too much shock to do anything but watch numbly.
“We are doing you a favor.” The man I would later come to know as Muro told us as he paced in front of us. “If you lived your life here, you would have been nobodies. We are giving you the shining opportunity to become something much greater.” He wore a smile on his face that conveyed arrogance and cruelty. I hated that smile. I hated him. Once the house burned enough to satisfy Muro, my brother and me were bound and thrown in a back of a truck with little ceremony.
“We won’t let them get away with this, sister.” My brother promised. He was ten then, (or was it eleven?) Tears were still streaming down his face. For some reason, his fiery red hair stood out even more than usual then. “We’ll make them pay.” All I could do was nod. The trip took what felt like an eternity. I couldn’t tell how long it took. I just remember riding in the truck, then a plane, and then another truck. It could have taken twelve hours or three days. I spent the entire time digesting what happened and dwelling on all the horrible things they were bound to do to us once we reached wherever they were taking us.
When the vehicle stopped, I was thrown over some person’s shoulder and was carried like luggage. I was too terrified to say anything or even move. I was dropped on a small cot and left there for what I imagine was an hour. After that time passed Muro removed my binds. “Welcome to your new home. You are now part of our family. We will teach you to become death herself. The better you behave, the better you will be treated and the more liberties you will be granted.” He was still wearing that smile I hated so much. He always wore it - as if it were part of his uniform. I felt no remorse when someone accidentally put mercury in his food.
My memories of the following years are foggy. I think the mind conditioning came next. I don’t remember much of it; I just remember being in a white room full of people wearing lab coats and feeling like someone was scraping the inside of my skull with a bottle brush. It’s amazing that I remember at all. I’m sure they didn’t intend me to remember. I should probably feel outraged that they did this to me, but all I feel is resigned. Maybe that’s proof of how effective the mind conditioning is.
I remember the raping. Maybe twice a week some soldier would come to my small room and have their way with me. I learned fast not to make noise when they were doing it; no one would ever come to help and all it would accomplish was making them angry. One of them broke my jaw before I figured that out. I made sure to memorize each of their faces.
When they finally trusted me to keep a knife with me I hunted down every last one of them and killed them. I made sure they suffered for a long time before they finally died. No one ever came to help them when they screamed either. It felt good to kill them; I savored their screams and reveled in the sheer pain and horror on their faces as I slowly cut pieces off them and showed it to them. I could hear a piece of me that resided in the dark corner of my mind screaming her revulsion of what I become. Perhaps that is the only part of that seven year old that still survives in me.
Once my old bedmates started dying in grisly manners, new ones stopped coming. My list of targets was quickly cleaned out, but my desire to give out pain was not sated. What free time I had from training I used to volunteer in the torture room. The torture master was somewhat perplexed at my request to participate in inquisitions. Once I proved myself a willing learner, he agreed to take me in as a part time apprentice. It took mere months to learn all they had to offer, and personally, I found their methods rather uncreative. Soon it was I giving them suggestions on how to squeeze information out of unwilling victims instead of vice versa.
By then, my training was complete and I was an official member of this society. They even paid me for the jobs I completed for them. I didn’t know what to do with the money however. Everything I needed was provided and I never developed an appreciation for any substances the other members seemed to be addicted to, so I merely saved it.