The Thing About Torture

The thing about torture… is the… waiting…
The anticipation of the unbearable, it’s about what they do to your mind as much as what they do to your body… they show you all their toys… all the hard and brutal things and they compare them with you… and your delicate soft flesh… waiting…
And now i sit here in this metal box, it’s very small, too small for me really and the rusty sides have already chafed me, because i am bent and crushed into the tiny space. The bottom has an inch of liquid in which my flesh marinates, piss, snot, tears and blood… they tell me not to worry, when i am returned to my box i will fit in quite easily. When i am taken through the soundproofed iron door, the box will be here… waiting…
Through the door is a table, they showed it to me. It’s old and has a grainy, gently undulating wooden surface, that has been scrubbed and sanded over many years, but it has a patina and a varnish made of women’s fluids. It’s huge and heavy like a giant butcher’s block… of course… that’s what it is. It has holes, almost healed, in that way that wood repairs itself, closing gashed fibres and filling in space; a living thing that has seen so much death… waiting…
There are metal things… huge nails with large round flat heads and square shafts that narrow from a good inch at one end to a wicked point at the other. They are encouraged through the skin and bone and tendons of your feet and hands, with a heavy iron mallet which has a rubber handle to protect the user. There are saws, medical instruments that in a world that i have left, are used to remove irreparable or diseased limbs… with anaesthetic, but here they only work to agonise and destroy. There are pliers and pincers and knives… and scalpels, the things of insanity and chains, hung from the ceiling with meat hooks on the end, large for wrists and small for nipples and tongue… swinging slowly… waiting…
At one end of the table is a frame with a two inch wide metal band that will circle my head, there are four short screws that will twist into my skull and hold my head immovable, they will slice off my eyelids… so i can see my deconstruction on the monitor above. There are long rubber aprons and gloves and Wellingtons, underneath which my butchers will be naked, erect… on the wall there are the trophies, a dozen or more sets nailed onto a large wooden plaque; a nose, two ears, two breasts, a cunt, a tongue. One set from every woman that has ended here… and a space at the end… just … waiting…