disconnected Auther note: Exterme angst warning. You've been warned!

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Disconnected
by December
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I want you to feel pain.

You've never felt pain before, have you? Have you? Oh, of course, you've felt physical pain, maybe after a good fight or spar, but never pain from the inside out, so bad that your heart screams to be ripped out of your ribcage and torn into many goddamn pieces and scattered over the blood-drenched carpet.

I want you to scream.

I want to hear your cries of pain as I break every bone in your body one-by-one, your pleas for me to stop as I kick you in the head again and again until you crumple to the floor like a broken rag doll and whimper as your life slowly drains from your body.

I want you to cry.

To see your tears fall as I leave you on the floor, cold and scathed and used. To make you feel like you're a worthless nothing. To watch you cry as I tell you you'll be nothing more then a pitiful shitbag with an even more pitiful life. To leave you feeling ashamed, broken and bruised beyond repair.

I want you to break.

To slam you up against a wall, crush your skull in, snap your neck and drink your blood off the walls. I want to watch you curl up on the floor, sobbing after you've been thrown away. I want to deliever the final blow, watch with glee and satisfaction as the light fades from your eyes and my name is the last word that falls off your lips before you're nothing left but an empty shell, a lifeless corpse.

...Does it hurt?

Now you know how I feel.

Trapped? Free?

No. Disconnected.