Post by lianita24 on Jul 13, 2020 13:56:14 GMT -8
Executioner.
He comes to me in the evenings, and even more often - in the dead of night, when I already insanely want to sleep. He knows well when I am least protected and how easier it is to hurt me. My whole soul is in sores and wounds - old and fresh, many of which are inflamed and fester. They do not have time to heal, he does not give me time - my personal executioner. And I, chained to a gray prison’s stone with rusty heavy chains, I can neither escape, nor even move back. I can only gather strength and endure. And to hope ... As crazy as it is, I still hope.
Here again, I hear the booming steps along the corridor, then the lock of my dungeon clangs, and a dark silhouette appears. This is he - The Еxecutioner. I have never seen his face for many years - he is always in a mask, and a shapeless hoodie is on his body, and his hands are also wearing gloves. So, I could not even say what kind of build or race he is. However, who cares who torments you?
I only know his voice - such a boring, a little tired, measured voice, a continuous routine, as they say in American blockbusters - "nothing personal." I think sometimes that for so many years, both I and the questions that he asks me have bothered him worse than the bitter radish. Well, how much is it possible, day by day? And he has a job, he probably must be payed a salary for this. Not for me, I don’t have any money, only the wounds are getting wider and deeper.
He knows all my pain points by heart and naively hits in the same places. Of course, I know them even better, I even know where each of his questions will respond with pain. I know and pre-compress in anguish from the inevitability of this pain. So, he slowly prepares his terrible tools, all kinds of tongs and pincers, inflates the brazier, straightens his mask, and the interrogation begins.
- Tell me about your childhood.
This is a blow under the breath, it immediately catches my throat and there is a sharp pain in my stomach.
- Childhood ... I did not have a childhood. There was some kind of sluggish nightmare, a pursuit.
“Who followed you?”
But this is a hook under the ribs ...
- All. Except my father, perhaps. He did not pursue, he generally withdrew. He gave me to the slaughter, indifferently watched from the side, as I was being driven into a corner.
“Did he love you?”
- No, what kind of "love" there ... He did not care. He was silent and hiding, constantly evaporating somewhere, and all the conversations simply trailed off in the bud. He did not want to participate in anything ... And then he completely dumped, left all of us. Deserted. He was weak and worthless, like a соскroach, he only knew how to hide in the cracks ...
While I am telling all this, he twists the “Spanish boot” on my right leg, the pain is hellish, it is impossible to bear it, the limb goes numb and turns off. I carry weight on my left foot.
- Now tell me about your mother.
About my mother ... I don’t feel like talking about her, but I’m not a hero and not a Stoic, therefore, I begin to mutter:
- My mother almost didn’t deal with me, and indeed she didn’t do anything at all, she was constantly in depression, in alarm, wandering around the house like a zombie, and she didn’t give a d**n about me. It was better not to catch her eye, it was more expensive for me. As soon as she caught hold of someone’s gaze, it began ... She always had a good portion of nuts ready, and it poured out on me often. Although others also got it ...
- “To others” - is this to whom? - grunting, The Executioner specified, methodically moving to my left leg.
- To father, to sister. To me. To everyone. She didn't care to who. She seemed to be “not here” all the time, doing something about the chores, and thought about something else, and this “other” was very annoying to her. She seemed to “started up” herself, and I felt that the air was starting to smell like a thunderstorm. We all felt it! It scared us, it was dangerous, it’s like in the movie “Alien”, when something incomprehensible and terrible comes out of a loved one, we wanted to run away from it, but there was most often nowhere to run. And then she caught on to some little thing - and that’s all, an explosion and an apocalypse ... There was no one to be saved. Such black anger came out of her that horror simply paralyzed me ... She was like a snake, a nightmare rattlesnake, fast and inevitable, like lightning.
My voice is interrupted. So, I feel about the same thing now. The master has already “handled” the left leg, and there are no supports under me at all now. I would have fallen like a sack at his feet if chains had not held me. And I am chained - and nothing, just hung ... Like in childhood when I could not lean on either my father or mother. The limp body, tormented by fear, the body of a little boy, half dead from grief and horror.
“Who followed you?”
But this is a hook under the ribs ...
- All. Except my father, perhaps. He did not pursue, he generally withdrew. He gave me to the slaughter, indifferently watched from the side, as I was being driven into a corner.
“Did he love you?”
- No, what kind of "love" there ... He did not care. He was silent and hiding, constantly evaporating somewhere, and all the conversations simply trailed off in the bud. He did not want to participate in anything ... And then he completely dumped, left all of us. Deserted. He was weak and worthless, like a соскroach, he only knew how to hide in the cracks ...
While I am telling all this, he twists the “Spanish boot” on my right leg, the pain is hellish, it is impossible to bear it, the limb goes numb and turns off. I carry weight on my left foot.
- Now tell me about your mother.
About my mother ... I don’t feel like talking about her, but I’m not a hero and not a Stoic, therefore, I begin to mutter:
- My mother almost didn’t deal with me, and indeed she didn’t do anything at all, she was constantly in depression, in alarm, wandering around the house like a zombie, and she didn’t give a d**n about me. It was better not to catch her eye, it was more expensive for me. As soon as she caught hold of someone’s gaze, it began ... She always had a good portion of nuts ready, and it poured out on me often. Although others also got it ...
- “To others” - is this to whom? - grunting, The Executioner specified, methodically moving to my left leg.
- To father, to sister. To me. To everyone. She didn't care to who. She seemed to be “not here” all the time, doing something about the chores, and thought about something else, and this “other” was very annoying to her. She seemed to “started up” herself, and I felt that the air was starting to smell like a thunderstorm. We all felt it! It scared us, it was dangerous, it’s like in the movie “Alien”, when something incomprehensible and terrible comes out of a loved one, we wanted to run away from it, but there was most often nowhere to run. And then she caught on to some little thing - and that’s all, an explosion and an apocalypse ... There was no one to be saved. Such black anger came out of her that horror simply paralyzed me ... She was like a snake, a nightmare rattlesnake, fast and inevitable, like lightning.
My voice is interrupted. So, I feel about the same thing now. The master has already “handled” the left leg, and there are no supports under me at all now. I would have fallen like a sack at his feet if chains had not held me. And I am chained - and nothing, just hung ... Like in childhood when I could not lean on either my father or mother. The limp body, tormented by fear, the body of a little boy, half dead from grief and horror.