The Torture Table (tweeted 28th Oct 2013)

The blade pierced the skin deep into his pale flesh.

It was the larger of the tormentors wielding the knife but the smaller one was laughing with demented glee and shouting instructions.

Another slash came, and then another, ripping into his body. Then the torturers began cutting away the meat, one chunk at a time, and tossing it aside. The pain was excruciating but he was too paralyzed with fear to resist.

He tried to recall how he had ended up in front of these maniacal butchers. The last thing he remembered was drifting off to sleep surrounded by his family. They had spent the evening star gazing and telling stories from the long summer days of their childhoods. Then he woke in this hellish room, staring into these sadistic visages.

The hacking went on for some time. He could feel the life force ebbing away from his once plump and proud body. Occasionally there would be momentary respite as the torturers broke but they would soon be back at their grim task.

At one point he could sense they were slicing into his skull but by that point he had lost all feeling.

Finally it was over. The instrument of terror was downed beside him and his persecutors left, congratulating each other. He sighed but was too weak to do anything else for the time being. At least now, he thought, I can be left to find some peace and respite in my final hours. But his relief was short-lived for moments later they returned in possession of a flame that immediately began to blister and blacken him.

Too numb to care about pain any longer his thoughts turned back to his family outside and he prayed that they weren’t next on the table.

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