TORTURE OF EVERA – 03

In the depth of darkness, an unrelenting void.

Black, the stars, the sun, the moon.

Echoes of despair and a fading voice.

Who is that who lays suspended in the abyss?

...

There was no natural light in the white illuminated room, there was only a long-haired blonde man in a long white coat, standing beside the figure of a naked girl, who was tied to the floor. Her face had a calm expression.

A blazing red steel rod, pierced her, as she screamed in agonizing pain, the screams so bone chilling so as to shake her tormentor as well.

Tied to the floor, Evera awaited yet another day of her routine.

There was a man, standing over her, having nearly molten steel poles impale various joints in her body, going through her the rods reached the floor, as she healed over them, with them. Her screams horrifying.

Of all that visited her, this man was the most twisted. Everything they did to her, be it burning, drowning, slashing or any other sort of torture, they would record it, document it and the results but this man. When he would come, he would have the others leave.

His "experimentation" was never recorded, for the most part he simply enjoyed torturing this toy of his, relishing her agony, and the fun never seemed to die out like everyone else, he could go at it for hours and his toy wouldn't break. The rest did, the rest weren't nearly as fun.

Another pole went through her eye, the pain, the stinging, it felt like the flames would consume her inside out, it was so utterly indescribable, and yet Evera's screams, holding the tiniest inkling of what she felt could stop a heart.

...

Every day they would do something to her, it had been going on for years, for so long that she didn't even remember, every day she would be ushered into the room, every day they would torture her.

...

The abyss holds no hope,

alone you bear the endless.

The figure suspended in space was still, eyes ever open, looking beyond what was,

there was this nothingness about her that was haunting.

"What will become of me." she had used to think at one point, but soon she stopped thinking about that, maybe she forgot how to think at all.

Nothing changed. This world belonged only to her. Each and every day it continued, as it had, as it would.

It didn't bother her anymore.

She moved her arm, in the abyss, the entire scene changed into endless skies, with her there, the cold wind blew across her body, the fresh gale.

...

The man removed all the poles after they cooled down, ripping the healed skin, her blood and bones blurting out and then turning to nothing. Her screams continued, as the man now bored, brought out pliers.

The skies changed and were swallowed by the waves of the sea, as the girl washed upon the shore. There was the clear sky with a few specks of clouds and the brilliant sun, the sound of waves and wind, the soft sand. Supporting her frame.

...

The man cut off her fingers bit by bit, one by one, with each she writhed in agony, death denied. They would grow back again, he would scar her entire body, cut at her breasts. Like a wild beast he would carve her entire skin with the tool, and it would just heal, her screams constant. As if they were music to his ears.

All his frustrations would be released, torturing Evera was his therapy or so he thought. He would express all his anger, rage and desire out at her and then return to his own wife and kids and be the father they deserved. This was his little secret, and he loved it.

...

The beach changed into snow and Evera saw the sky darken as auroras danced.

She ran and the snow turned to soft grass, the sky changed as well, an old tree, a swing.

...

The man struck her in the head, and Evera's mind fazed,

The scene fell, momentarily as it always did, a static.

She found herself again, with nothing.

These lapses were recent, lapses where she would create, something had changed somewhere. There had been this persistent annoying glow at the furthest ends just beyond her reach in her mind.

Even though this glow caused her to create the worlds that she did, she preferred the uninterrupted abyss. That would never break, that she would always end up in.

Of late, she could see hints of ancient memories long forgotten.

Of late, she would fall.

Of late, she could see a silhouette.

Of late, she feared, she could remember hope.