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Rated: 13+ · Chapter · Adult · #2096645
A convicted heretic, who is no more than a young woman is getting ready to be burned.
The burning in my wrists subside slightly as a barrier of hot new blood starts to run down my arms. My rusted chained bracelets are jerked, pulling me onto my feet and a short, fat, bald man pulls me through the narrow doorway I thought I'd never exit alive. One would think I should be elated, but my feet seem to become stone as I shuffle through the pungent hall; I know the truth. The smell of human waste that used to burn my nose was now nothing more than an afterthought as my unprotected soles skim the black mucus. Dots dance through my vision. From the lack of decent good and water, from my incessant beatings, or simply because I know I now walk towards my death? I am ready to die, that's not my issue; In fact I welcome death and it's freedom. I've pleaded and prayed for it lately. No, dying isn't my fear, it's the how. How? The word seems to suffocate all other thoughts. Oh God, how? Poison, electrocution -- too easy, firing squad --too quick. No, this wasn't going to be easy or quick, it was going to an extensive agony. While in my stone room I had no real sense of time and therefore had no idea how long I was actually here, I was here long enough to know my torturer loved his job. His face always stiff and still, eyes holding nothing but boredom and annoyance until I was drowning in his inflicted fear and pain, then they sparkled with joy; lust. I try to quicken the blackness that is slowly growing but all I think of is the physical and emotional torture I am about to endure. Being stripped of any emotion other then terror long ago, the emotional torment didn't seem as appalling, but physical pain -- physical pain was a constant reminder that I did not exist in some horrible nightmare but that I did indeed live here and now. One more time, he's going to win one more time. Fiery panic pushes it's way up my throat bringing tears to my eyes. Don't let him see fear, don't give him that satisfaction. One more time, one more -- fight. My final battle pushes my heels into the slug shoving who knows what farther into my already pus filled feet. Trying to ignore the jolt felt up my legs, I swiftly yank the restraints. Though the sensation is too intense to continue, I get to watch the ignorant old man stumble and have to put a bare hand to the floor's gunk to steady himself. Finally the long awaited darkness carries me away.
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