The Job
By
Ellie Potts
May you walk through the raining
pools of blood, and dance on the guts of your victims.
The words
floated to the top of her head. She had been given a job, a good job, a job she
knew she could really do. A job she had been dreaming for since she could remember.
Remember since when? Lucifer had explained her duties, and she planned on doing
her very best. To show not only Lucifer, but his other head-honchos that he
chose well.
Raining pools of blood.
She
shivered as his words caressed down her spine, building the anticipation. The
freedom of the job set her free. She smiled a small smile as she thought of all
the possibilities. She opted to stay here in hell. Oh she could have done this
on top-side, but her life on top side had been full of bland dull painful
memories, and feelings. All so close to the surface, but yet her mind could not
grasp them. Her hand ran over the small scar on her forehead.
She entered
the room, and looked at all the frightened souls; her toys, her victims, her
vices. She would do as she pleased with them. They were there to be tortured,
to fulfill their heavy dirty souls. Would the doctors who touched her come
soon? Would the guards who held her down and had their many ways with her come
too? She remembered some of them, but where had she been? Would Lucifer let her
have them? She would have to ask.
Her tight
black corset made her already snow white skin glow in a sick yellow way under
the florescent lights. Her very long black hair, no longer having to be kept in
the tight braid they had made her keep it in, fell around her shoulders in a
black cloak. She saw that her appearance made the souls quiver in fear. She
could almost taste heavy copper on her tongue with the anticipation of what
would soon happen.
But what
scared them were her eyes. Oh sure she had a cute small nose, a bit sharp for
her. Her mouth also small, but had perfect pink pouty lips. But it was the
eyes. The doctors had talked about them.
The eyes of a psychopath.
Her eyes
had scared anyone around her, including some of her new colleagues. They hid
it, but she could sense their nervousness. Like that of her parents, until they
had just stopped visiting her. Even her nurses they felt nervous and pity for
her. What had she done to deserve what had happened to her? The thought made
her stop briefly, head tilted as she tried to remember something, a fleeting
memory. Shaking her head, she thought of Lucifer, he did not fear her dark
brown orbs when she looked at him with childish curiosity.
There she
had stood. In front of the very man, her parents had said she would meet with
pain and torture, and he had accepted her with a hug and a job. There was no
fright, nervousness, or pity in him. He knew what she wanted, deep down, and
the job had fit.
She walked
along the wall holding her instruments. Her toys. They looked sharp, deadly and
damn fun. Her hand ran lightly over knives of all different shapes and sizes,
her favorite were the serrated blades. Their bites the victims felt. Again that
memory that was so close to touch came back like a small nagging pain, she
tried to grab at it, but it escaped through her hands like liquid, like blood.
She grabbed
the cat o’ nine tails. Nine thongs of strong cords, but with her own twist
added to the ends. Small razor blades were added to the tips. Why torture them
with whipping, she wanted to pass the foreplay and get straight to the blood.
She turned
to her scared victims, already her wrist snapping the cat o’ nines hitting
there marks. The souls cried out and screamed for mercies. The blood flowed in
small cuts. She moved and circled, humming a favorite childhood song, as her
wrist snapped over and over. And the screams spiraled louder echoing on
themselves. They could not pass out, so they would stay awake for everything
she threw at them.
She went to
pick another torture item from the wall, something bigger that would get the
blood flying. Homemade devices, she had no name for, but would work. She turned
to the red eyed, snot sniffling souls. Fear and pleading in their eyes. Her
body heated with something close to lust. She released her new toy on them. The
blood flew coating her like velvet wet new skin. She licked her lips, rolling
the thick copperness on her tongue.
She sang
and twisted. The blood ran, splattering the walls, coating the ground. But
still the souls screamed as there was no escape for them. No unconsciousness
for them. And in her blood rage glee, that nagging thought finally came close
enough to grasp. She stopped as the memories flooded her.
Her first
kill, the feel of the life going out of the small animal, its lifeless glass
eyes staring at nothing and how it made her feel. And then the evil older boy
who had tried to make her take off her dress, and would that didn’t work he
tried to rip it off her body. How it had felt to shove the garden shears into
his stomach. How his small whimpers of pain thrilled her as she straddled his
body and used the blades to make the cut bigger enough to place her hands
inside. How she explored the inside of his warm body, the bloody tissue and
organs slippery to her touch. She had discovered the almost long wormy thing,
and started to pull out the thick corded stuff. Later she would discover it had
been the intestines.
They had
locked her up. She had been punished, she had been beat, she had been
electrocuted, and then finally she had been lobotomized. She had lived a
horrible life of nothingness, living stuck inside her head, while the world
went on around her. She was nothing but a drooling feeble body, until she lost
her will to live, and her life just went out, and she was glad for the
darkness. And when she awoke she had found herself, now able to function,
sitting in the reception room in hell. The secretary, the bitch she was,
actually offered her a magazine to read. The man next to her, shocked, said the
cold hearted bitch offered nothing, just an evil look on her face.
She came
back to herself. That little memory had done nothing to her, and nothing to
change her feelings of the task at hand. Instead it fuelled the spark for the
job. And the anticipation that her religious go happy parents would soon be
there to enjoy the pain she will inflict on them. She will torture them until
they confessed to their own evil. She would torture all who had done wrong to
her. Maybe Lucifer could find the boy who had tried to rip her dress off, maybe
she could gut him again. Oh yes, she will dance on the guts of her victims.
I love your stories Ellie
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