I didn't want to wake up from this dream. I was in my bed. I got up, and my father ran into my room to talk to me. He startled me awake and spoke of excellent news.
"Son, The Deadman has been given immunity for his murders. They've set him free and claim all his murders were acts of justice. Come look!"
"Murders." That word leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The Deadman doesn't murder. He cleans this world of filth and disgust. Even with that in mind, I rush out of my bed and sprint downstairs into the living room. My father was correct. There on the news, The Deadman was given a certificate claiming what he did was justice and ensuring he could continue what he does. They patted him on the back, and the chief of police congratulated him on his capture. I smiled with glee as I witnessed a miracle. I grabbed my phone from my pocket as my family spoke around me. They talked about how surprised they were that he was freed. They didn't know what else to do but congratulate him. I opened the group chat to see no news about this at all. I hoped to experience this euphoria with the closest people I knew, but I got no response. I felt static as I looked through the notes. Usually, there would be old messages left, but when I looked, there was nothing. A noise played thru my head to fit the static I saw. I sent messages throughout all the chats, but none of them were delivered.
"Wow, little bro, I never thought I'd say this, but I apologize. The Deadman is a good guy after all." My brother said to me.
I can't even acknowledge his words, for I never thought he'd say them. He must have noticed because he walked up to me and hugged me—the first physical contact with my brother in years. The warm embrace fills me with joy as I sink into his loving arms. My fears fade away as I calm down. I let my phone go in my hands and try to embrace him back, but my arms won't let me. I rest them as I pull away from him and turn towards the tv. In big bright letters in ad form, it states that one lucky contestant will get to meet The Deadman in person. Just another fill of government propaganda trying its damist to quell the situation and gain money off of him. First, they publicize his torture and near execution. Now they advertise and monopolize his accomplishments. Only blind sheep would follow that, and The Deadman wouldn't want us to try for that. I leave my phone on the ground and go to sit down. My mother passes by me, kisses me on the forehead, and tells us she's cooking dinner. I can already smell her delicious cooking. It smells of burning flesh; it must be her famous meat stew. The air filled my lungs as I chatted with my family. Some tears start trickling down my face as I try to control myself. I must've felt overjoyed with feelings. I never thought I'd be crying. Don't get me wrong, I loved him and wanted to see him succeed but never to the point of tears. I reach for my eyes, looking up into the ceiling to stifle the tears. They won't stop coming. Sadness turns to panic turns to fear. Fear turns to anguish. I scream in agony as pain fills my body. It's like I'm being burned alive. Temperatures reaching a thousand degrees burn at my skin. Then my family fades. My phone fades away; the couch fades away, and the lights grow dim. I am in total darkness, with only my limbs glowing. I feel for my legs. They are still there. Then I think about my arms. One is missing. My left arm is but a stump. Its length stops at my forearm. I tried to scream in fear, but I received nothing. Then a voice hits me. Waking me from my fever dream. It's time for my morning routine.
I don't know how long it's been. I recovered quickly from that hospital bed, and they tossed me behind a cell. I stayed in that cell for two days. After two days, they blindfolded me and took me deeper into this building. What followed is what I call my daily routine. I awake to a female voice. It's rough and ragged like nails scraping against my skin. She slaps me awake and douses water on my face. My eyes are still covered as she speaks.
"Wake up. It's time for satisfaction."
If only that meaning had any thrusts behind it. "Satisfaction," as she deems it is the most terrifying thing imaginable. While strapped to a chair, she begins hitting me across my face and taking her anger out on my body. She claims I'm a piece of art, and my body is just her canvas. Blood leaks out of me for god knows how long, and she continues this until satisfaction. Once I'm ready, she splashes water on me and begins hooking me up with electric currents. She flips a switch and sends voltages throughout my body. Only pausing to confirm I'm still alive, and at moments, she'd play with the controls like it's enticing her, edging her further to climax. Sometimes it would break, and she'd leave me there in pain. She would come and caress my ear, whispering how strong I am compared to others. I'd beg, scream and cry. The pain was unknown to my brain. The only reaction was screaming; what would you do in that situation? After this was perhaps the worst part of my routine. She would press a button on the console, and doors would open. The sound of feet stepping closer filled the room as I begged not for this to happen again. I pleaded my heart out, screaming not to let this happen again.
"Please!! I'll do anything. What have I done to deserve this? I'm a normal child; I'm a good boy. I... I don't want this."
My pleas never matter. The men would do what they wanted with me all the time, even if I was but a boy. They didn't care. They used every part of me. They stuck fingers and nails into every gash in my body, every bloody hole left by whips. They would bring tools to my torture and even use those to carve about my body. Painting me onto a canvas no matter what, I screamed. After a while, you stop crying. After a while, you stop screaming. I tried my hardest to beg The Deadman to come to save me. He never did. He never will. This was the grand finale of my morning routine. All that was left was cleanup. After the men left me alone, the room began rising in temperature. The lady's voice filled the room as it got hotter and hotter. Sweat would gleam down my face and drop to the floor. It would evaporate as soon as it touched the ground. By this point in the routine, I would pass out. The shock of everything happening at once is too much for me to handle. Food would be brought to me by this point, and if I never ate, they would force it in me. They used tubes and machinery to make sure I never died. Every day I felt that I was so close, so near that edge to jump, and then I'd hear his voice telling me to keep going. I couldn't see who any of these people were. Even if they were desperately saving me, I still felt hatred for them. Every time they talked to each other, they spoke in a foreign language. After feeding time, I stayed suspended in what I assumed the air for what felt like forever. I don't know how high I was or what lay beneath me. I'd take this time to nap, and by the time I woke up, the process restarted. Her voice would wake me up, saying, "it's satisfaction time."
This continued for weeks? Months? I don't know how long. I lost track of time. I lost track of space. I tried to comfort myself when I could, telling myself it would be better. How do you find comfort if every minute is pain? How do you live on knowing there's someone out there in constant agony? This passive mindset grew tenfold while I was here. It went from being I could save everyone to I should kill everyone. Every day I drifted further into sanity, further over that edge, and just before I leaped over, I would hear his voice. He brought me back to reason. He saved me just with his words. His voice worked for a while. It would keep me only for moments. As time went on longer and longer, I couldn't hear his voice as loudly. It got quieter and quieter until it became silent, and when it did. I couldn't care what happened next. There is only PAIN!