) and wrench it up a few notches with a longterm torture toy! Let me know what you think!CW: ||bone breaking, infection, amputation||
Posted originally here: https://www.deviantart.com/cman1024/art/1116696133
Her wrists are bloody, bone exposed to the searing air here and there. It's far from the only place that hurts, but it's difficult to ignore such accumulated trauma, even if that describes most of her. She does not know how long its been. She has hung like this for 3 weeks. She has not left the basement in two years.
Her head nods and bobs as sleep keeps trying and failing to take her. A game of tug of war between sleep and wake that neither side ever wins. Poison floods her mind, corrodes her thoughts, the poison of three weeks of sleep deprivation, of two years of trauma, of never quite forgetting who she was. Of who she cant be again. A person her body no longer has the parts needed to ever be again.
She lives in nightmare, never awake or asleep enough to shut out the horror of either. She tries to map it, set boundaries, colonize it the way one does a soon to be familiar room, but it has no landmarks, no edges. She sees demons, shadow things, awful things, sometimes out of the corner of her eye, sometimes walking down the stairs.
A new pain builds and she releases a burning cocktail of blood and pus and amber brown piss down her leg from the massed infection that was once a human pelvis and for a moment she can tell that's real, that's happening, a tether of biological necessity grounding her back to cement floors and chains and hurt.
Her body hurts. Did it ever not?
Are you sure?
Her body is barely recognizable.
Fuck the ship, was Theseus the same man after his journey?
Was his corpse the same man?
Where is Theseus now after centuries of rot?
Where is she?
What is she?
The living desperate to die
The dieing desperate to live
Scarred, bruised, burned, beaten, cut, stabbed, whipped, torn, bloody, dirty, greasy, reeking, infested, infected, inflamed, hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, useless, worthless, dumb bitch, fat bitch, worthless slut, stupid fat fucking pig, worthless piece of shit too fat to sell off, unwanted, unloved, waste of food, waste of space, going to get our money pig, whatever you want 100 bucks, going to get our investment back, 100 bucks just don't kill her, or do who cares, of course they want to hurt you you're too fat to fuck, of course they want to hurt you you're too ugly to fuck, of course they want to hurt you you're too scarred bruised burned beaten cut to fuck, chewed up, spat out, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over
Two years
She shakes at a sudden noise shooting pain through her battered body. 2 years of hypervigilance, of hypertension, of hyperpanic living on the knifes edge has smoothed out her reactions into a single sharp full body tremor response. Her mind can't snap to attention, but in dreams and reality she knows someone is there.
Demon wants her now.
Not from the shadows in the corner of her eyes, from the stairs.
It shows her the bear trap by opening it's rusty jaws in her face
It shows her the cattle prod by shoving it into her belly folds and making her scream.
Its an animal scream, all id no ego
It sets the trap in front of her and then steps close, very close, she can smell it and for a second is almost grateful to smell something other than iron, salt, and the filth of this room.
She feels a sudden surge of pain in her brutalized wrists, a *CLICK*, and then gravity throws her aching body to the hard floor.
The sudden change is agonizing as every muscle readjusts a position unfamiliar to the last several weeks, a low groan coming from her ruined mouth turning into something resembling heaving sobs. Tears of gratitude masquerading as tears of pain, she knows it wants her to suffer and she is desperate not to disappoint.
The shock of the prod on her back comes before the order.
Up.
Short, sweet, easy for even her mangled mind to interpret. Less easy for her body to comply. Her weakened arms like jelly as she tries to force herself up onto her stronger legs. Her wrists scream at her to stop as she tries to use them to lift herself, but the cattle prod screams back to keep going as it travels around her body torturing her abused flesh here and then there as it goes.
Eventually she is able to get her legs underneath her and with herculean effort pushes herself up until she's standing. She shakes in pain, unable to hold back a low groan of suffering, her body begging to fall back down. A sudden burst of pain explodes in her back, followed by another order:
Go.
Shakily she tries to move on her own for the first time in weeks. One step, two steps, then her left leg gives up on her, inflamed joints and shredded muscles refusing to comply. She stumbles, she falls, she catches herself before her face collides with the ground and immediately regrets it when her wrists explode in pain on contact. It shouts and the prod makes her leathery skin sizzle. She forces her head up and sees it:
There, just a few feet in front of her, the trap.
She understands now, exactly what this demon wants. Fear overwhelms her and she falls sobbing, the prod working overtime to get her up but her body just won't move. The demon shrieks and drops the prod, kicking her endlessly broken and reset ribs until they start to crack again. The part of her begging to move away from the pain is so small and weak against the fear permeating body and mind, but then the demon decides to simply force her into position, hands and knees, ready to crawl into the trap just ahead. It jams the prod into her infected pelvis and let's the sparks go through her barking orders: go go go, but despite the pain, something within her can't bear the thought of losing an arm. She isn't even quite sure why after everything she's been through, but she refuses to give up an arm to this demon.
Slowly she forces herself once again and the shocks stop in response, and she forces herself to move forward, step by shaking step.
One.
Two.
Three.
*CRUNCH*
She hears it, the awful crunch of the rusty jaws breaking her leg like a chicken wing, so much worse than she thought it would be, the sound so sickening that even when the pain finally arrives seconds later she cant help but dry heave. She is an expert on pain, two years of daily practice have molded her into nothing less, but an expert on hurricanes can tell people to flee, to prepare, to mitigate as best they can, and when its over they can help assess the damage, but the expert can not stop the hurricane.
It hits her like a freight train, an unstoppable force meeting a small fragile object. Overwhelming. Drowning out all thoughts all senses, falling fully, leg first, into an abyss of pain.
She drops to the ground screaming, unable to hear the demon laugh over her, or remove his pants to truly take pleasure in her suffering. She screams, she thrashes, her muscles that were so weak before tear themselves apart with worthless adrenaline fury, raging impotently against the onslaught like caligula waging war on the sea. The seconds crawl by, magnified through suffering, a thousand years of hell crammed too tight in a handful of minutes until finally her shrieking prayers are answered. The angles shock and endorphins finally descend to bless her suffering and her thrashing begins to cease, a cold numbness starting to take over her limbs as blood seeps out of her wound. Finally, mercifully, everything goes red and then black, the last thought left putting away the chairs and turning off the lights one of relief.
Its ending.
It's over.
They remove her leg.
A week passes.
They remove a hand and 4 toes.
A week passes.
They remove still more infected parts of her.
Another week passes.
The cuts are amature, inprecise, jagged.
They burn them closed.
A month passes.
They return her to the basement.
She wakes up sobbing at her ruined body.
She wasn't supposed to wake up.
It continues
It continues
It continues
It continues
It continues
I̶t̴ ̷c̴o̷n̵t̵i̷n̵u̴e̷s̷
