Morphine

two : eternal death

Bansik is a heartless man. He enjoys pain and torture, especially mine. Maybe he likes me that way. Maybe I am making it easy for him by being fragile and terrified, hence increasing his entertainment. 

But it doesn't matter because when I see him, every single organ of my body freezes, afraid that it will be destroyed and ripped from me.  

The door is thrown open, pulling me out of my reverie. I look over my shoulder expecting one of his co-kidnappers to slide a plate of food to me, like I am an annoying mongrel.  

But it's not my lunch.  

Bansik enters the room like the king of the world. I scramble away as far as I can, the organ-freeze taking place inside me.

Everything is in a state of bedlam. I am pretty sure that he was here just a few hours ago. He never came twice in a day.  

Probably he's bored out of his head?

He brandishes his whip and the very sight of it makes me sad. The thing is bloody worn-out from being lashed against my body countless times. He slings that around his neck and gives me a cruel smile. Then he pulls out a knife from his pocket. It clatters to the floor emitting a horrifying aura.  

My eyes widen in horror. Oh he is definitely bored out of his head.  

I am trapped. He flings the whip at me, but I do not miss that unusual hesitancy in his movements that lasts for a nanosecond. 

Somehow that unfreezes my organs. I'm about to command my brain to take advantage of that, but my arms are already half-way there. Just before the whip makes contact with my body, I twist my arm into the whip and pull him closer. 

He is clearly taken aback. Now it's my turn to smile. I jerk my knee up smashing his crotch, but he takes a step backwards dodging my knee.  

Bansik’s other hand goes around my waist. He flips and throws me on the floor. My head bangs against the ground and my eyes begin to water, clouding my vision. He jolts the whip from my arm, forming scrapes along the way. Kicking my gut, he has me clutching my sides and grunting in agony. 

I want to fight back. But thanks to my hapless situation, Bansik does not offer such chances. He is sitting on top of me before I can get up.  

His unbearable weight is the least of my problems. He holds his knife not three centimetres from my eyeball.  

I stop breathing. One slight movement and that sharp metal will pierce through my eyes. 

Surprising myself, I rasp out, “Why? Just tell me why.” 

Of course he has no intention of doing that. Instead, he traces the cool knife across my cheek, sending involuntary quivers throughout my body. 

The knife kisses my skin all the way till under my jaw. Without warning, he drives it into my face in slow motion. The sharp edge of the knife tears my skin and flesh. He spins the knife through my jaw like a nail being drilled into a wall. Except, his movements are more sluggish and each second I am being destroyed.  

I can't even scream because I can almost feel the knife inside my mouth. My eyes snap shut as he hastily draws the knife out. 

Are there no limits to affliction? 

All of a sudden, I'm thrown against a wall. My body slumps to the floor. No more can I endure this. No more. And now I am being lifted off my feet by my neck. 

I can't even breathe. I'm choking.

Finally. 

Bansik’s face is an inch away from mine. I can smell the whisky as he speaks. That bitter odour is beginning to stimulate my gag reflex.