It would be a mercy killing, right? I hesitate. The boy can’t be more than five. But his eyes are dead and he shows no emotion. He has been drowned and resurrected so many times I wonder how he still lives. He harbors no hope for himself and neither do I. There are scars where he had once been bound though it’s obvious he no longer struggles against his kidnapper. I release him from his current torture and he speaks not a word but points to a door before silently shuffling out another.
I know the door he gestured to leads to a basement. I open it and descend to the dimly lit room below and find a half a dozen young boys and girls, all raped and molested to the point of wretched indifference. All bear marks carved into their flesh where their tormentor has cut away pieces with which to eat. I am repulsed and I can see they are empty shells at this stage. Why even release them? They appear alive but really aren’t, inside.
I hear movement above me and put my finger to my lips though by their dead-eyed stares I know they have no compunction to make a noise either way. Quietly, I stole back up the stairs and crossed into the next room where he stood. I saw the coal black rage in his eyes as he assumed I stole the now-missing child, though he would not utter a word about it, for fear of the chance I knew nothing.
I, for my part, have no problem showing my hand, quietly whispering, “oh, vile wicked creature”. His lip twitched in an almost-snarl but his skin was greasy and pasty with spots of sweat and I knew at that moment I would choke him to death, even as I envisioned it perfectly in my mind. He will never hurt another.
tara caribou | ©2019
The latest addition in my category named Insomnia. These are real dreams taken at real times. They might be dark or weird or fantastic or erotic. Welcome to my mind.
Insomnia (noun) 1. inability to obtain sufficient sleep, especially when chronic; difficulty in falling or staying asleep; sleeplessness.
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