...dying slowly at each of your soft words...
Previous - this entry written on May 29, 2006 at 2:01 pm - Next
An image... such a simple one, so pure.
The stuff they used for the anesthetic stings as it goes in, extremely painful. It could, no doubt, be combined with other fluids that are even more painful when injected.
I imagine you, naked, kneeling. Arms bound behind your back, a heavy rope looping your throat and stretching up to a beam about 8" up. The rope is just long enough that while you kneel upright, it is merely tight... but if you were to relax from that position, you would slowly strangle.
There is a device strapped to one upper arm, a cuff of sorts containing a large, sturdy vial of this concoction, and a length of narrow tubing leading down to an IV at your elbow. Instead of the normal sort of drip device, this vial is rigged with a carefully-constructed bit of electronics, sound-receptive and quite sensitive. When it is activated, any sound above the barest whisper will send a drop of fluid through the IV.
I am standing in front of you, stroking your hair, fingers running gently over you, soothing you, my words almost comforting... familiar.
"Shh, little one... don't struggle, don't speak. It will be over soon enough. Don't fight it... you know it's time, pet. You're quite bright, for a useless scrap, you really are, so I'm sure you already have some idea of what will happen. This..." my finger brushes the weighty, tightly-fastened cuff and its accompanying electronics, "is designed to let a drop of anesthetic through with each syllable of speech it registers. It will hurt, it will feel as if you arm is on fire at first... but slowly it will numb. Your vision will start to fade. You'll drift off."
I pause, smiling affectionately, my hand moving to tug ever-so-lightly on the rope, before continuing.
"And when you are unconscious, you will slowly strangle, unable to remain upright, choking to death. I'm done with you, little one. No more collar, no more name, no more protection, no more use for you. Just this."
I can see you flinching at that; the collar you'd been allowed to wear would have been removed days ago, not replaced no matter how well you begged, and you'd not been called by name, any name, in several weeks. For the last two days, I hadn't even spoken to you, not allowed you to serve me, not allowed you near me. You'd been so excited when I had called you into the room today, hoping that whatever it was that had upset me was gone, that I would let you back at my side.
You hadn't even cringed when I put in the needle, just knelt there, arm outstretched, looking up at me trustingly. When the rope was knotted around your neck I could see the confusion in your eyes, the worry, but still all you did was nuzzle at my hands once the knot was tied. You were trying so hard to be obedient, pleasing... it was almost enough to make me smile.
Now... now, still petting you, still speaking gently, I let my other hand rest on the switch that would turn on the IV.
"You may speak, once it is on. Ask for mercy... ask me to be silent... ask for what you most want to hear, as the last thing you'll ever hear. You won't be leaving this room, little one. After six hours, the IV will turn on full drip regardless."
With that, I flick the switch.
Previous - Next
Hosted by Diaryland - All Rights Reserved - Image, Layout, and Content copyright Jax Raven -
- Do Not Feed The Moose -