Carvings That Bind

The Carvings That Bind

Alyssan

He screams and screams until his voice becomes raw. His eyes roll into the back of his head a number of times and, each time they do, my hand comes down, quick and hard, striking him across the face.

He will not sleep.

Not until I'm done.

Not until I'm satisifed.

Not until he's payed the price for his crimes.

So I continue to keep him awake. I continue to treat him like he's treated me. Like he's treated the others.

As a plaything.

A thing to pass the time.

A thing to find amusement and release from.

For he is mine and will continue to be mine until I say otherwise. He may scream. He may squirm beneath my hand. Flinch with every touch.

His eyes will fill with terror.

His flesh will rise with goosebumps.

His back will arch off of the table with every ounce of pain he feels, inflicted by my hand. And I will watch. I will watch it all and, through my eyes, they will watch as well. They will watch their tormentor become the tormented and we will inflict justice through one pair of hands. As one overruling God, because that is what we've become.

A God ruling over a swine who lost his way at a young age.

A God inflicting justice as we see fit.

As we believe is right.

So I will continue to inflict this pain, this justice until there is none left. Until every one of us is satisfied, because I will not die. We will not die or rest or become at peace until it is served. And my body will watch, from it's home inside the small and cramped closet, decaying and decaying and decaying until nothing remains but dust and bone fragments. It will watch as I exact revenge for what it's become, what we've become due to his hand.

Countless hours.

Countless months.

Countless years.

Lost in a matter of minutes. A matter of seconds.

"Unforgivable." I breathe out as I bring the knife down onto his delicate and stained skin. I slide it along, pressing the sharpened edge in just enough to draw blood. He breaths out and whimpers. Cries like a newborn wanting his mother. And I laugh at that as I look up and into those amber eyes I once thought I could trust in. "That's what you want, isn't Mr. Garrison? You want your mamma don't you?" He has no response for me and I chuckle as I slide the knife up and up and up his body until I'm bringing the tip to rest just on the point of his chin. "Say it, say you want your mother." I ordered and he swallows loudly before opening his mouth to speak,

"I want my mother." His voice is quiet. Scratchy. Raw. It's everything mine was when our positions were reversed.

I lean into him, bringing my face unsettlingly close to his and I enjoy watching him pull back, shrinking away, trying to escape and those eyes flicker around the room. The room he created and my smile grows crazed and devious because there is no way out. We both know that.

The creator has only trapped himself. His safe room, his home, has become nothing more than his own prison cell.

"Too bad, she's dead." I said and chuckle as I slide the blade up and along his cheek. Little droplets slip down his pasty skin and down his throat and I just watch it mesmerized, as it creates a trail. A pathway. An escape.

"Why are you doing this Alyssan?" He asked and I look away from the line of blood to his eyes. I move the knife away from his cheek and place it on his forehead where the male symbol is carved into him. I gently slide it downwards to his cheek where a carving of a cross is and down some more, past the apple beside his mouth and to his throat where the little bird lies and, even further down to his chest where his house is messily made with the numbers 666. Further down, on his hand, rests an angel.

I look at each one of the carvings.

The carvings that he marked us with.

The carvings that bind us all together.

The carvings that have entangled us in a large web of hate and despair.

I look into his eyes and lift the knife up.

"Because, Mr. Garrison," I bring the knife down hard, piercing the peaceful angel on his hand.

The angels that I used to pray to as a young girl.

The angels that I believed would keep me safe.

The angels that betrayed me.

"You are mine."