Malcom was pleading for his life as he was being tied up.

PLEASE! I’m begging you. PLEASE LET ME GO!

As they hung him upside down, he began to scream and shake uncontrollably. One of the men stepped out of the room for a brief moment and came back with a long, hefty saw.

Malcom laid his eyes on the saw that was going to be used to cut him in half and he let’s out a piercing scream.

Someone calls out to the men and they both leave the room this time.

Malcom begins to wiggle around and move side to side. He falls to the ground and manages to get himself up quickly. He scans the room. Searching for a knife to cut the ties that are wrapped around his ankles and wrist. Malcom finds a sharp object on the table. He hurriedly makes his way to the table and grabs the knife; cutting the ties off his wrist then his ankles.

With a quick look around, Malcom rushes to the door and cautiously peeks out.

No one around. I need to hurry and leave before they come back.

It’s dark ripples flowing down, slender handles, soft material wrapping all throughout. Specks dark throughout; carvings uniquely embroidered in. Light coloring and fluttering as a mask.

O dear, O dear!

This is my love indeed.

Her dark flowing hair, slender hands, soft skin. Her moles as if they were stars; uniquely hers. Light surrounding her all being.

O pain, O pain,

Please stop this muse.

Please stop this pain I feel!

Every glance, every feel, my body goes numb.

Unexplainable, irresistable pain shudders through my whole being.

Every night, I slowly inch away from her resting body but inevitably, she returns with her lengthy arms wrapping around me, tightening around me.

God, may she strangle me.

May God and her strangle me with her sharp, prickly, soft, ever so lovely hands.

Death relaxes my pounding heart.

Her being tightens around my heart, quirvering and shaking like scared prey.

O Dear,

You are the prettiest torture device man has created.

But I know how to reach a haven.

I know how to desert you.

I may act despicably,

But can’t you excuse me?

I simply must follow instinct: survival.

Distance.

Neglect.

And distance.

And distance once more.

And leave in silence.

Peaceful, challenging, easy, painful,

That was my escape.

This ancient ancient art of water boarding to place a cloth over someone’s head to a board put a cloth over the heads and pour a water over it experience the feeling of drowning. It was first used by the inquisition during the Spanish Civil War . To escape it I kick the torturer in the head end of the groin disarm the key and place his hand in the chains than I pour water over him

“Mind your step. Welcome to Hollister Memorial Museum. Welcome to mind your step.”

Shuffling their feet, the bus load of fourth graders waited on the grand staircase. Ms. Welch ushered a pair of slap-fighting brothers into the museum’s front entrance. Django scouted for an escape. Each student’s ID bracelet was scanned by a museum guide with a bright smile and exhausted eyes. Django scanned his wrist and with a deft hand slipped his bracelet into his pocket. Phase one.

Next, Ms. Welch’s class gathered under the rotunda. As Welch went over the rules, Mr. Han and Kimmie’s mom began escorting kids to the restrooms. Discreetly Django spilled water on his pants. Phase two.

Django waited until the bathroom group had just disappeared around the corner before springing to action’ With the precision of Houdini, Django ran to Ms. Welch. Whipping up crocodile tears the nine-year-old gripped his teacher’s arms and slipped his bracelet into her coat pocket. Phase Three.

“Missus Welch I have to go to the bathroom. Now,” Django whispered.

Ms. Welch tried to untangle herself from her student’s clutches.

“Okay, Django, Mr. Han will be back shortly, sweetheart.”

“But Missus I really have to—uh oh,” Django said, glancing down at his pants.

Ms. Welch’s eyes followed the boy’s eyes down to the wet spot. Her mouth formed a small O.

“Hurry, child.”

With the look of profound gratitude, Django covered his front with jacket. He hurried towards the restrooms but continued past ducking into the stairwell. Django sat down on his haunches. Mission Complete. Actually, Django loved history and science and museums. He had wanted to go to the Hollister when they first entered the Saturnine system. In fact he hoped his dad would take him to Ring City just to see the exhibits. In fact the only thing Django loved more than visiting museums was not doing what he was told. Bing forced to do anything no matter how pleasurable was torture.

Pleased as punch, Django whistled as he walked downstairs. He pulled out a second bracelet and set a timer. Ahead he saw a door marked Personnel Only No Entry. Django smiled wide reaching for his lock picking kit.

The device looks ominous sitting in the dark corner. I could smell the rotting wood and grease on the gears. This device is going to be used to torture me to pull a confession from me. My crime is questioning the church and their teachings to the children of our village.

The device consisted of a table made of wood. There are worn ropes that run from two sets of pullies, one at the head and one at the feet. The ropes are strapped tightly around the ankles and wrists. The long wooden wheel, which the torurer is going to turn to pull my body. At first it will feel good but eventually it will start pulling my arms and legs out of their joints. The cracking of bones and the screams that will become horrendous. I must figure a way to get out of this and quick.

The priest walks into the room and begins praying. The executioner is next and wearing a dark hood where I can only see his eyes. and mouth. Those eyes are familiar to me because it is not a he but my wife Sheila. We had paid off the original man who was suppose to handle the torture so she could take his place.

The priest walked closer to me. I could smell the hypocracy on the man; and began to smile as he began yelling at me “Confess. Confess now and maybe your sould can be saved.” With all of his ranting and cursing he didn’t hear Sheila walk up behind him and raise the knife and say “You son of a bitch.” and the knife came down with a thud into the back of the man who was asking me to repent.

The priest fell to the floor in screams of pain. My wife jumped on top of him and repeatedly thrust the knife into the back of the man as he attempted to escape his most certain death. Finally there was silence and she untied me. We embraced each other in a loving embrace and kissed. “

"My dear you were amazing.” I said as we both looked down at the man lying on the floor. “We must get out of here now. Put your hood back on and tell the guards you are taking me back to my cell; and then tell them the priest wished to pray in silence. We can then escape out through the tunnel beneath my cell I dug.”

Throwing her mask on we walked out of the torture chamber. I looked as though I might fall over while my wife dragged my body to my cell, they figured I was a broken man and would be back tomorrow for some more re-education. When we got to my cell I pulled back a block in the wall and we both escaped through the tunnel I had dug to the outside of the prison.

“We will be on the run for the rest of our lives my dear.” I told her, “As long as I’m with you I don’t care we must go.” She said and we ran out of the city never to return.

His eyes were filled with panic and shame as he quickly got off our bed. His ‘friend’ was scrambling to find her clothes while wrapping my blanket around her to cover herself. He brushed off my suspicions many times, telling me I was paranoid because his love for her was like that of a brother. It would offend him when I accused him, and he always had many excuses and explanations. I saw a hint of remorse in his face, but my anger was too intense. I was also angry at myself; I had wasted the best years of my life; my youth and the disrespect I endured were laughable. All the love I had for this man died in an instant; I didn’t care anymore. He walked towards me and said, “I’m sorry” repeatedly. I just looked at him with all emotion devoid in my eyes. “Come” was all that managed to escape my mouth. I looked at them both to signal them to follow me. He had just reached me when I started walking towards our basement, ensuring they were both following close behind me. His friend Ana was reluctant, but he ensured she did as said. She was cursing and annoyed he made her listen to me. My home was quite big, making the walk there feel internal. When we got to the basement door, he looked panicked and turned to see my face, “Honey, are you sure you want us to go in there?” He told me as my hand reached for the knob. “It’s just that…, you never liked anyone entering the basement, … not even me.” He looked down as he said this. I just looked at him with an annoyed look on my face. I opened the door, and there was darkness; you couldn’t see an inch in front of you. I told them to start entering the basement at the same time. Ana looked at me, fear evident on her face, “what are you trying to do?” she asked me, trying to sound annoyed. I rolled my eyes. “walk,” I snapped at her. As they both set foot inside, I pushed them, aware of the countless stairs that awaited them. You could hear their screams as they continued for a few minutes, and their voices faded as they went further down. It took me some time to finally catch up to them. They were severely injured when I finally saw them; the lights were turned on at this point. I was a petite woman, so hanging them up took me a while as they squirmed and struggled to free themselves from my grip. Although I’m small, I’m pretty strong. When they were both dangling from my Basement ceiling, I placed Their Unusual, pointy chair underneath them. I lowered them as slowly as I could. They were begging for mercy, and all I could do was cry as I remembered their betrayal; I was so tired of being abandoned. Was I not good enough? Not pretty enough? Not smart enough?

My guilt, Cos ya know That’s how I am built, And it shall glow.

My jealousy, Cos I know, I could never see, It was all a show.

My loyal heart, Because it is, The right part, So you can always be his.

My caring soul, Why, Because us was always the goal, Cry.

…

🖤

Love - the oldest type of torture. It started in the Garden of Eden, It dwelled within our history feeding on our human nature.

Love - it breaks, it hurts, it smashes Heart and soul, body and mind Until you’re nothing but piles of blood stained wings.

Love - how I survived this torture? Or am I still alive in spite of all? I always ask how can it be that people Don’t sense the rottenness inside.

I have no clue, advises I’m not giving To all young hearts doomed to repeat my pain! I wish that I could pray, but words are worthless When Love becomes my favorite play.

The rack No slack Get back On track

Torture device Not nice Kill mice Men twice

No confession Learned lesson Tell less then Lies to win them

He never thought that getting a ring stuck on his finger long ago would suddenly become such lifesaving information, but it had now. It was by lucky chance that he had managed to get his other hand free, and with it he properly scavenged for somehing to get him out of this mess. A wire eventually wandered into his rug burnt hand, twitching with pain as he eyed the other, the hand still caught in that contraption. It wrapped bands around the base of his fingers, trapping them so under the spiked press that gradually begun to break them. Whoever captured him here, the memory was foggy, but it was something called a “my attempt of a thumbscrew.” The bands had reminded him of rings, and from there, he remembered a situation from his childhood amongst the flashbacks. At one point while goofing around, one of the rings he was wearing had gotten stuck at the knuckle. At first, he tugged. Then he tugged harder. He soon burst into panicked tears, until his mother hushed him with a kiss, and brought him to the bathroom. His hand was put under cold water, then a piece of floss was used to weave around his finger, under the ring, and eventually slip it off. He used the same technique, albeit with jittery movements and many failed attempts dotted with quiet curses. Eventually though, when he got one finger slipped out from underneath the humming device, the rest came easy. From there, with one hand singed and the other lightly crushed, he begun to look for ways out of the room.