Hey everyone. I know, I have works to finish (mostly short drabbles plus my novel with original characters), but when I found the beginning of this little piece of work, I couldn't help but to start writing it. This one is going to be a real multi-chapter story. I think I set the bar high this time, afraid of that I may not be able to do it, but I vowed to myself that I would never give up. It's pretty hard for a person who's not a native speaker, but it's fun at the same time.
Returning to the story, I think it's the most tragic and dark novel I've ever written. I hope the story line will be thorough and nerve-racking just like in my head.
Rated T (may change) for strong violence, physical/mental torture and language.
Before you start reading, please count on that the following instalment is probably full of grammar/wording/spelling and all kind of mistakes (or maybe not?), so be careful and do not judge me. Like I said, I set the bar high this time. And due to lack of time, I'm not sure I can update fast. Thank you for understanding.
I do not own TMNT, Nickelodeon does.
Now, please enjoy. :)
Prologue
"You're going to rot down here slowly and painfully..."
The cell is dark and the walls have partially collapsed, cold flows inside through the small gaps. Nauseating smell spreads in the air—it's like burned flesh, mingled with blood that has splattered on the walls and the rock-hard concrete floor. Everything is so very dirty and horrible, even the spectacle itself is able to arouse our most terrible nightmares or send the stomach's bile at the back of our throat. From the ceiling, three thin strips of light illuminate the pedestal exactly where black spots, or rather some sort of writings contaminate the concrete. As our eyes adjust to the dark, we manage to notice that these black scrawls can be found everywhere. Lines, crossed out and some kind of dirty swearing what would never leave a decent person's mouth.
A prestigious-looking man is eyeing his victim with murderous gaze, as if he is a hungry beast that can hardly control its temper, and desires to fly at his prey to violently shred it. Despite his strong yearning, he doesn't move, not yet. He continues watching his victim, who firmly leans against the wall, his tiny body lying curled up on the dirty floor and shaking. His green skin is covered with numerous injuries—there are old and new ones, bleeding and wound-covered scratches, and although they're different, have one thing in common: each causes terrible pain.
His eyes are dark and glassy, not showing any sign of life anymore—as if they are an abused animal's orbs. Maybe because he is no longer the person who he was before, but a tortured, despised carrion. With narrowed eyes he blinks at the man standing at the entrance, and notices that the door is wide open. He should escape—but he's unable to move a muscle, the throbbing feeling reaches his bones as he struggles to fill his lungs with air. Everything is painful, everything. Even the way he tries to keep his eyes open or swallow. His throat and whole esophagus have parched, his limbs have gone limb, stomach's empty and body's lost dangerously much weight. He has gone through too much suffering to withstand more and more pain. He doesn't have any healthy part of his body anymore and deep down inside his soul shattered—the pieces are so small that it is impossible to paste them together again. There's no life remained in him, but the desperate yearning for death. He wants to die, that's all he asks for. Not capable to endure more anguish—he has given up. He doesn't understand what keeps him still alive. He has nothing—no home, no family. Only the pain, the unbearable pain.
"P-p-please k-kill me a-already…!" That's all he can say for days now. These are the words of a broken soul, and it seems that despite repeating them every day—his captor is unwilling to fulfill his wish. Some kind of spark flashes in his eyes, as if he finds joy in the pleas of his tortured prisoner. After all, this is what he waited for so long. He succeeded by breaking him, permanently.
The prestigious man smiles faintly, and kneels down in front of his prey slowly, his hands stroking the wounded skin. "That's what I struggled for in those months. Why would I throw away the thing from myself I fought so hard for?" he says in a triumphant tone. As his palm touches the battered skin, his victim shudders, but not able to draw back. The man pulls his smile even wider. "It was not easy to break you. You are− were a strong and persistent fighter. You know, I was beginning to think that I would never be able to affect your spirit. But I did." He pronounces the words in such an intonation as if talking to a friend rather than an animal that can't understand him anymore.
Suddenly coughing attack rocks the prey's body, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. The man continues stroking his shoulder, soothing him as if he's a crying baby who's having a bad dream. "Shhh, it's okay, my trophy. It's okay. The misery will end soon, I promise."
So...? What do you think? It was literally a flashback. The real fun is about to begin. Want me to continue (or not)? :)
xx
