theshipper101's Random One Shots and Short Stories

Writing Promt #1 (PG-13 for blood, torture, etc...)

"Well sorry," the teen said between his gritted teeth. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you stabbed me."

I shrugged. I walked over to him and yanked the knife out of his arm. He cried out in pain, a sound I was used to by now.

"W-who are you?" The boy asked through gasps. "And why do you want me dead?"

"Dead?" I asked. "Who said anything about killing you. Tourture doesn't mean certain death. As who am I, I am the one they call Fate. A fitting name, thought a bit cliché. You will call me mistress or madam."

"Never," the bleeding boy said. His eyes shone with tears but he refused to let them fall. He was very defient. I liked that about him. A challange.

"Aren't you cute," I said with a smile. "I've seen grown men weep at the sight of me. That will be my goal for you. For me to simply look at you or walk into the room and you'll be begging for mercy."

"You're all talk," the boy said through gritted teeth.

I lifted an eyebrow. "Did you see my hesitate when I stuck that knife into you? Did you see fear or sorrow in my eyes?"

The boy hesitated. I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'm not some weakling like you." I slashed him across the cheek with my knife. "I am much stronger."

I set the knife down on the table. "Now," I said, looking at my assortent of tools. "Where do we begin?"

~

After thirty lashes with a whip, I was sure the boy would be sobbing. He wasn't. Sure, he was in pain and tears slipped down his cheeks, but he was silent, glaring up at me with all he had.

"You're a lot stronger then you look," I said. "But no one gets out of here sane."

The boy was trying to detach himself from the pain, I could tell. That's how some people made it farther then others. They would try to escape the pain by thinking very hard on being in another place where it was safe and comfortable. I tried not to let them. I picked up my second favorite weapon and turned the boy over. He gritted his teeth against the pain of his open wounds on his back touching the cold stone floor.

The weapon looked like a meat cleaver, but it wasn't as sharp and it had a longer handle. It was made for breaking bones. I brought it down upon the boy's leg and he screamed in pain. I hit him again, but in the ribs. I heard a definat crack or bones breaking. The boy still wasn't a sobbing mess, but he was still holding onto his broken ribs, tears running down his cheeks.

I threw the weapon back on the table. Not all tourture was physical pain. Most of it was mental too. The boy hadn't eaten for at least twelve hours when we captured him, but it could have been more. I walked over to my table, grabbed the bread, and started to eat it. The boy glanced up hungrily, but said nothing. I drank some water too. The boy closed his eyes and looked away. I smirked.

Going back to my weapon's table, I looked through all my toys.

"W-why are you doing this?" The boy asked, barely over a whisper.

I glared at him. "What do you care?"

"You...you must have gone through...through something awful," the boy gasped. "W-what happened to you?

"Hold you're tounge or I'll cut it out," I growled.

The boy did shut up, but he gave me this look which made my spine shiver. I let it go on for about three minutes before I turned and kicked him in the gut. "Stop looking at me like that!"

The boy grasped onto his stomach. I saw that defient look in his eyes. It wouldn't go away! No matter what I did! I trod on his bare foot as I walked back to my table of dangerous toys. I grabbed the scalpel off the table and turned to the boy. "They shouldn't have let a child do a grown-ups job!"