The tiny shack with a tiny window (Wattys2016)

Alive (warnings listed)

Warnings: Maturity, torture, implied sexual activity.

Laugh. A harsh, derisive one, delivered at a living body's futile attempt to flee in terror. The laugh comes from the boy, now a teenager, the thirteen-year-old boy who lives in the tiny shack with a tiny window. The body is strung up by the wrists, which are bound above its head and attached to a hook dangling from the ceiling. It's blindfolded, gagged, and completely starkers.

Starkers. A new word in the boy's vocabulary, used in informal British slang, either meaning "naked" or "crazy." Now, the body is naked, yes; but it's probably also crazy, the boy reasons, as it's thrashing about on the hook, trying to touch its feet to the ground when they're clearly ten centimetres above it. He looks down at the bit of flesh dangling in between the body's legs and wonders whether or not to have some fun; after, oh, about ten seconds, he grants himself the pleasure. He pulls out a lollipop.

Lollipop. Something that usually sounds happy, like a child who's given one. In this case, it promises pain, pain and suffering and blood. For the body, of course. The boy, who by now has a major in anatomy and cell biology—he's a prodigy, it being uncommon for children his age to graduate—knows exactly where nerves are clustered on the male body. He knows that there's one located in the prostate, so of course, he enters the body with the lollipop's round end and presses firmly against it. He hears the body inhale sharply through its nose, then it tenses; the boy moves the lollipop, back and forth, back and forth, and the body whimpers, moans, and makes all sorts of pretty sounds. The boy rips out the lollipop and violently jabs it into the body's urethra, smirking in satisfaction when he hears the body's pained, pained cry. He's careful not to become jaded.

Jaded. Adjective: dulled or satiated by overindulgence. The boy remembers this; he knows that, if he repeats something too often, then he won't achieve the same effect the action gives him, that rush of adrenaline, that feeling of happiness and pleasure he gets from seeing red, red blood, red blood turn to black as it dries out in the sun. He knows this, so he changes what he does every so often, and this time, he has the end of a lollipop stick jammed into a body's urethra, where it's very, very painful, and it gives the same rush of adrenaline. He then takes out another toy, a small lighter, and flicks it near the body's torso. The body, obviously sensing heat, tries to dodge, but it's bound by the wrists and can't move anywhere. It emits a muffled-but-loud shriek upon having its skin burnt, and the boy carves pretty designs as the body wiggles in a strange dance.

Dance. It's another one of those happy things that turn out not to be so happy after all, like life and death and lollipops. As the body dances and writhes and twists and turns, all in vain, to evade the small lighter, the boy laughs, laughs happily and mockingly at the body's attempts. Throughout the night, the shack, the tiny shack with a tiny window, emits happy, mocking, harsh, derisive laughs.

The body's still alive. 

A/N: Thanks to consulting_asgardian for the words.