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Just wondering for your opinions...

Tell us about your adventures, amazing stories, wow us with your wit...use your imagination, tell us some of the greatest moments in your life.

Post Sat Aug 26, 2006 11:50 am

Just wondering for your opinions...

Here is a little part of a story. For part of my english literature gcse it is compulsory for me to complete one piece of original writing. and i just wanted to know whether you thought this story could go anywhere. Or perhaps it is completely the wrong route to embark upon....

Blank. Absurd. Empty. Void. Irrelevant.
Each evening they retired to their beds, yet they still found neither rest nor peace. Everywhere there were screams and shouts as men gave concious and unconscieous voice to the nightmares that besieged them whether they slept, or were awake. Some men writhed about, others lay still as corpses, eyes wide open but seeing nothing. Some said nothing at all and made no soundwhile all the time, behind their open, staring eyes, they screamed.

Such was the nightly horrors and miseries of the torture camp when day came the prisoners ghosts from night took a physical form in the day. They were all to stay ntil their death and the camp made little attempt to hasten that event. sometimes one might escape and benefit from a false hope.Being allowed to flee to a surrounding village. But it was in vain and only prolonged their miserable lives for any village or landmark was nought but a folly.

Why the men were there none of them knew. Nobody knew, not even their tormentors. There was one however who did know, but as i said he was nobody. An ordinary man. He had endured no such torture himself. He was of the arrogant breed of man who believe that he had suffered more than any. No his suffering had been truly minor. Yet he chose to steal away husbands and sons. He believed he had a right to take what wasn't his, to force strangers to endure pains that were unnatural and to have sights revealed to them which were nothing less than sins against the way they were made to be.

The tortures themselves are beyond description. It is true that they were modern, imaginative and truly unique. For example a man might be made to pull out 10 of his own hairs daily. This alone sounds like no torture, but consider this the man must then stuff one hair under each of his nails on his hand. he must lever up the nail from each of his fingers and put the hair in place. However to ensure that no accidental losses of hair were made he then had to staple each hair into the soft warm red flesh under the nails. And finally to finish the procedure he had to resecure the nail down by stitching. All of this he did by himself. The tools were left for him and he was briefed before he entered the room. He did not leave this room until he had completed this task.

Of course many men didn't ever complete the task, they starved to death or died of blood loss. Yet the warm bright childs nursery in which they were forced to complete he task was further phsycological torture for them. Frequently fathers would think they same their little girl playing in a room like this once. They would remember when they knew smiled proudly at the successes of thir children and scolded them for the silly predicaments they got them in. These men often did not leave this room alive.

Some of the inmates of this hell believed they understood how to survive these tortures, they were wrong. They were the more intelligent ones, the ones who thought it was a test and if they completed all of the tasks they would go free. This is an idea the tortures liked to see flourish and spread. These inmates had the most mangled body, they had been infected with many of the incurable diseases of the day. They were always dying here. Yet for some unknown reason they believed that to hold their life was what it was about.

It was not. It was about the pleasure and satisfaction of one unknown nobody of a man. this man would not be satisfied though, his greed for suffering was like a pig gorging itself. He felt little remorse, that which he did feel was a cumpulsory guilt he felt he must have in order for him to feel human. But that was all it was for. His life never changed, the killing of hundreds never helped him and he needed always more. He helped no one. Until the day he knew he had gone to far. And on that day he was slightly horrified to wake up in a child nursery with a pair of pliers in his left hand, and a pice of paper with writing on in his right.


Edited by - Team Dartox on 8/29/2006 12:20:07 PM

Post Fri Sep 01, 2006 8:59 am

Keep up the good work, i enhoyed throughly out the story.

Rank 7
Superiour! You must play freelancer nearly all the time. Can you play on the 24/7 Roleplay Server? My name is nomad hunter xd.
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