Your cruel device
Your blood like ice
Your cruel device makes every one of my hairs stand on end – makes my blood curl. What can I do but look away as you quite literally rip into him, piece by piece?
His flesh is being pulverised as your whip hits its soft outer layer, then, when that is no longer, the mid-layer, and the base layer too. All layers. Until I am certain I discern bone.
I cannot see your eyes. But I can feel them. I can feel the crazed look you must possess; the animalistic madness you’ve surely succumbed to. What horrors you are capable of. What terrible horrors.
I fear you will never tire. I wish I had the strength or the courage to stop you. But I do not. I merely have the female ability to stand by, and judge you; judge your actions without the capability to prevent nor stop you.
Eventually the slave falls. His body droops, and he is still. So still.
My eyes remain frozen open. I do not blink. I do not move.
Will you continue?
The silence hangs in the air, thick with blood, and rich with the echoes of his cries.
Still I am frozen. Still you are undecided.
Finally. The whip falls, hitting the floor with a thump that restarts my heart.
From experience my eyes know to look down – they know not to be caught staring at you – as you turn towards me. Even though I know you cannot see me. All you see is whiskey-rage; a rage that runs through your blood like fire rips through a bone-dry forest.
You storm out. The disgusting smell of drink and sweat combined with terror and pain linger, making my head swim with nausea. I remain as ice until the sound of the barn door shutting at last hits my ears.
It is then that I fall.
I fall to my knees and let my head sink to into the dire mix of manure, soil, hay, and feed that lines the stone cold floor.
It is then I cry.
Boy do I cry.
This is my response to the daily prompt, which I happened to read, and it inspired me to write a quick short story. The song that was the last song I listened to was Alice Cooper’s Poison (luckily something easy!) I tried to free-write it, though a bit of self-editing crept in.