Torturing the Hated One

mothers ex boyfriend from years ago...I'm sixteen now, still seeking revenge...and now, I finally have it...No one knows...I feel...amazingly happy after waiting so long...My name is Tori, I have long brown hair and blue eyes, pale skin and love weapons. I feel like I lost my mind years ago...wouldn't surprise me of course...well, now you know me...here's him...his name is Matt, he has dark hair...I have him bound to the table...ready for torture..Will I let him live? Let's see...




I smirked as I watched the man squirm under the bonds that held him. Watching him bound after all these years felt like a high. I stroked the handles of the weapons on the long stone table next to me. I would never give a bastard like him the peace of a quick death. I would make him suffer for all the traumatic scars that he gave me while I saw him and not. He screamed curses at me, wishing me to Hell, and hoping that I'd be caught and killed. I giggled, the sound that used to be girlish, happy sound now hollow and insane sounding. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?” I smirked as he eyed the weapons on the table. Without looking down I picked up a sharp pointed dagger and played with it in my hand before walking over to the stone table where he was bound. Lightly placing the tip of the dagger against the inner part of his elbow, I slowly punctured the flesh there. He screamed as I tore. Little by little I dragged the dagger back and forth, back and forth. I laughed in delight as I watched the stream of blood grow as flesh and now muscle was severed.

There was a sickening scraping sound as the blade met bone. I stopped the movement of the dagger and put both hands on the hilt. Looking up at him to see the look of pain in his eyes, I thrust downwards on the dagger. The snapping and splitting sound of the bone snapping was music. I felt myself gag in disgust and laughed. He screamed louder than before. “Onto the next!” I shouted over his screaming. I giggled, dancing around in circles. Suddenly I stopped and thrust the dagger into his wrist, spraying blood. His wrist twisted unnaturally upwards as the dagger went through it and hit stone. Pulling the dagger out, I turned towards the table of weapons and picked up three other daggers of the same kind.

Setting these on the stone table between his legs I took one and slowly spun it down into his left shoulder. The wound was as big as my palm when I was done digging. Quickly turning to grab a torch I pressed the flaming pitch against the wound. A searing sound was heard and the smell of burning blood and flesh filled the air. When the bleeding stopped I removed the torch and grabbed another dagger, doing the same to his other shoulder and both of his legs, right above the knee on each.

He had passed out from the pain by now, but I wouldn’t let him die yet. Not until he had felt the pain for a long time. Rape, attempted drowning, beating, who knows what else. This is his fault, he had it coming. My mother always told me not to hate him. She despised him, but only out of fear and lost hurt, not burning anger and hatred. I always imagined what it would be like to be an animal and tear out his throat. For years I imagined it, from the time I was about eight till now I imagined and hoped that he would die a painful death. That he would suffer more than I did, more than my sister, and especially a million times more than my mother. He should never have come near our family. I sighed, an exhausted sound. He will die now, that’s all I want is for him to suffer and die. This world will be better without him.

An hour or so later he awoke, the moment he opened his eyes he was screaming again. The stench of burnt flesh still filled the air. I examined the wounds that I had made. Blackened and blistered from the torch, the skin and muscle peeling away from blackened bone. His frightened eyes found mine. “D-Don’t do an-any-more…p-p-please!” I laughed darkly at his begging. “Bastard.” Was all I said, reaching for a cat o'nine tails. On the end of each leather string was a piece of carved glass, created and designed to take chunks of flesh out of the skin without completely injuring someone. Gripping the handle tightly I swung it back, smirking at him. “N-N-NO!” He screamed as I brought the whip down on his soft belly. Nine chunks of flesh clung to the glass when I yanked the whip back over my shoulder. Blood sprayed from the wounds, covering my face and hands. Feeling almost, giddy, I swung the whip again and again, spraying more blood and taking more chunks of flesh from his torso. Soon getting bored of this I dropped the bloody Nine Tails on the table and picked up a thin, very sharp metal fan. Spreading it, I straddled his chest and held it over his throat. “Now you can die.” I said sweetly. The fear from before was more frantic now as I said those words. Slowly I swung the fan back and forth, slowly cutting through his throat. Minutes passed of this process. His screams turned to gagging, then choking, and soon cut off completely. Blood sprayed and flowed from his neck, and soon fluid along with. Dead. Finally I could stop and I wouldn’t suffer anymore. Finally, sweetly, dead. I broke off into fits of giggles, dropping the bloody fan and falling over the bloody corpse and onto the floor.
After all this time…It’s finally done.