2. Cry of the Tortured


I remember being dragged out of Deathscythe. I didn't even bother to fight like they
expected me too. In fact, there was alot that they seemed to have expected and they didn't
get much of it.

"It's a girl! She can't be... much older than twelve..."

"With that height and those muscles?"

"Got a flat chest... could it be a boy?"

"With that hair?"

"Fuck you all!" I yelled at those conniving, stereotypical bastards. "I am Shinigami and I
have killed more of your friends than I can count." I think they figured out the details after
that. I was dragged by my braid into a dark room and there I waited.

I think a day went by. Two. Three? Water came and went. I licked it off the walls where
the moisture condensed. Hunger became a constant, grilling pain and eventually it numbed
and disappeared.

Then, one night... I woke and I was no longer in the room. At first I thought I was trapped
in some throwback alien abduction movie from the Fox Network. Then, I tested my bonds
and panic set it. In fact, I was getting quite used to panicking. It was becoming a
trademark.

The bonds wrapped around my arms and legs. My head was held down by restraints so
that I couldn't move it... at all. The room was white and I felt my eyes naturally close at
the brightness and I suppose after hours I fell asleep.

A hissing noise and a furious burn was what I woke up to. Voices surrounded me and I
watched as they held my eyes opened. Then, all I could do was scream as liquid was
gently coaxed to thrive under hooded lids. After the first injection with the fine needle,
they let me scream.

It was all I could do.

The burning, ripping pain seemed to ease its way into my mind and couldn't even
comprehend what they were doing to me. Pain. Pain. PAIN. God! God! I should have
taken the bullet... anything would be better than this.

When I opened my eyes again, hoping to water the horrid pain out... all was black and it
occured to me what had happened.

"You FUCKERS! You blinded me!" I screamed. The pain reduced my voice to hoarse
coughing and rough sobs in moments as I rocked in the restraints. Slowly. The restraints
on my head was removed and I rocked back and forth. The table was moving... what?

The restraints were lifted and I found myself hanging up from my arms. A dim vision of
Christ on the cross flashed through my mind as I felt the restraints tightened on my legs. I
was "standing" if you could call it that and tied spread-eagled to a hanging post. That was
all I could feel.

The ever-present darkness bit at me.

"You killed one of my best buddies a couple days ago, faggot. He died as your scythe
ripped him in half, screaming the names of his wife and children," a voice echoed. "So,
beautiful boy, I'm going to make you regret it in the most horrible way."

I felt him move behind me. I felt my clothes torn off my body and then the agony in my
eyes was matched elsewhere. And, I regretted it in the most horrible way. Maybe someday
I'll tell you about it. But, not now.