Unprofessional Poems

Needles in my Heart

Okay this is from a Rick and Morty fanfic I wrote. I was really proud of the torture scene I wrote. Enjoy! (Btw it's really graphic, and the reason the person torturing him bites him is because he's an alien.)

Pain. All he knew was pain.

From the second that needle slid under his skin, pain became his whole world. Every single one of his nerves were on fire. Boiling like a pot on a stove. The injection amplified any and all pain that he felt by ten folds.

The man above him had cut his shirt from his body, and shredded his skin, stripping pieces of it from his chest and stomach. He poured acid over it, and Morty could hear the sound of sizzling flesh, could feel his own skin disintegrating and burning away.

One by one, the man pulled the nails from his fingers and deposited them in the trash. Blood was everywhere. His skin was chard black, burned and cut in various places, littering from his head to his toes. It felt like his whole body had been shoved into a blender, and then thrown in a fire. Yet, the pain only increased. There wasn't a moment of relief. Not a single moment where he could get a break.

Every time he felt himself losing consciousness, he was suddenly jolted back to reality as another needle slid under his skin in a new place. It seemed that the man torturing him had some kind of serum not only keeping him alive, but forcing him awake. However, the teen couldn't string together enough thought in his mind to really register anything but the pain that was consuming him. His vision danced, his heart hammered against his rib cage, (which he was sure he caught a glimpse of, sticking out of his chest) his veins boiled, and his skin crawled.

His throat was raw from screaming, and it felt as if someone had dragged a cheese grader down it. The potent taste of blood constantly lingered in his mouth. The constant pleas, and screams of agony would flood out of his mouth without permission, which would only provoke the man above him more. Jabbing him with needles, and tearing shreds of his skin away with various tools. He even held a blowtorch to his arms, and scorched them to a stinging crisp of black skin. Could he even consider the black char that encased his arms skin anymore? It was ash.

The smell of blood and burnt flesh filtered through the air as a constant reminder of the state he was in. He started begging for death at some point, because even death would be better than this.

The man picked up a tool, and at an agonizingly slow pace, he drilled holes into him. His arms, his legs, his chest. He injected a serum that made him feel as if needles were repeatedly stabbing into him, all over his body, even his eyes. His lungs struggled to suck in air, and there was a constant squelching sound as his heart struggled to keep his blood flowing through the massive amount he'd already lost.

He looked like a bloodied pulp of red, and scrambled flesh. Like he had somehow managed to literally puke his actual guts out.

Tears stained in heavier trails than ever before down his blood caked cheeks. Never in his life had he been in this amount of pain. His innards were splayed out in front of him for the whole world to see, weakly trying to keep up as time ticked by. How long had he even been here? Minutes? Hours? Days?

Any and all sense of time had vanished, and Morty could only pray to a non-existent God that this would all be over soon. Death awaits him, like a vulture. He wants death to take him. He needs death to take him. The nothingness of death would be better than all this suffering and pain. He was chocking on spit, air, and blood, all at once. His lungs just barely able to help him dislodge it from his throat, which was still raw feeling.

The lanky man continued to disfigure him without hesitation, emotionlessly boring down at him as he worked. He took knives, and stuck them into him, slowly twisting them around in circles, pulling mangled screams from his throat. Sometimes he even laughed in his face as he screamed, smiling with his shark like teeth. He even bit him, pulling chucks of skin and muscle with him and eating it. Morty nearly threw up when he noticed he could see some of his bones sticking out in various places.

He was bloodied mess, deliriously convulsing in a chair as a maniac dug into him with torture devices, praying for fucking death.

Morty wanted to die.

But he wanted Rick to hold him more.