The fungus on the walls dampened
the sound of echoing screams. Whips snapped and flesh tore, chains cranked and
bones crunched. The sounds mixed discordantly, culminating in a grotesque
symphony that only the Devil could enjoy. Well, the Devil … or the Man in the
Onyx Mask.
He
sat in the balcony on his throne and inhaled deeply through the holes in his
black façade; blood and must. He relished the scent as he took a second, deeper
breath throwing his head back in ecstasy. The Man in the Onyx Mask exhaled slowly and
lowered his eyes upon scene before him. He watched, enraptured, as the
unrelenting torture built to a crescendo releasing a palpable sense of terror into
the atmosphere. He fed on it for what seemed like hours.
Satisfied at last,
he stood and raised a single gloved hand.
As
the people below him noticed, one by one, the sounds diminished. The screams
subsided into sobs, and everything ceased. All who were able looked upon his
stone face and waited in silence.
“Now,”
he said staring down at them from above, “feel free to have your way with
them.”
Instantly
the torturers began to tear and remove their clothing. They used sticks and
parts of machines, anything they could find to make bandages and splints. The
victims were tended to through tears of apology, and were offered water though
most weren’t able to stomach it.
The
Man in the Onyx Mask turned to leave the dungeon and spoke over his shoulder,
“Your debts are forgiven. Take your children and leave.”
In the previous piece your space lacked well space. In this you seem to have a sturdier grip on the proxemics of writing. It is far to often that we write divested of the place, and our place could be almost anywhere. This is a dual edged sword, and the more detail we put places us in a more sturdy picture of reality. In all I love this piece for all its macabness and of course its seeming inversion of life and pain. Atonement, in the most painful way? Heck, isn't that what we are all looking for?
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