The Illigal Tacos (A Donald Trump x Shrek fic)

Goodnight, Shrekiekins

Smash!

The glass box that I am in shatters. In front of my I see Shrek, holding a hammer and a small curled knife in his hand. Before I have any time to think, Shrek is sitting on top of my pelvis, pinning down my arms with his hands. He lifts the peculiar knife from the ground. I swallow hard, and keep my mouth sealed shut. He traces the outline of my lips with the tip if his knife, the knife tearing deep into my skin, letting the blood seep out and roll down my skin. He now traces my eyebrows, driving the knife into my skull. He pulls out some tweezers, and plucks out my eyelashes one hair at a time. He moves his focus back to my lips, he is holding his curled knife again. Shrek slits my upper lip in half, right down the middle. He continues to slide the knife upwards until it reaches the tip of my nose. He forces my head backwards, letting the blood drain into my nose. I began to choke on my own blood, my chest thumping at every cough. I can't breathe. He tips my head so it is flat again. The knife is still in my face. He twists it 90 degrees and cuts across my lip, taking off half of my outer lip. He forces my mouth open, and shoves the piece if my lip down my throat. All I can do now, is swallow it. My lip slides down my throat, it is slimy and it tastes like blood. Shrek cuts off the other half of my upper lip,  using the same process. He opens my mouth, and grabs the tip of my tongue with his tweezers. He yanks my tongue so it is sticking out if my mouth. I feel the knife penetrate into my tongue, right in the center, the knife drags forwards, out of my mouth and towards Shrek. He slices off half of my tongue, using the slit and the hole as a guideline. My mouth is filled with blood, and it hurts like no hell that I wish to explain to you. Now I can't talk, I will never again be able to say my praise. Shrek is love, Shrek is life.
"I told you this was only the beginning, babe. Let the real games begin now." Shrek said

    Shrek grabs lifts my bloody, sore body off the floor. He carries me over to a white doctors bed, the narrow kind, coated in paper with a single white pillow on it. He places me down on it, and gestures for me to lay down. I do. Once I am laying on this uncomfortable papered mattress, he does just as I expected. Chains. To my arms and my legs. He props the pillow under my head comfortably..

    "What now?" I say quietly to myself in my raspy voice.