(Day 47) Mental Liquidation

“Thank you,” I say as I stand smoothly out of my chair. The weight of ceiling starts to make the structure we’re in groan as I bring my attention upwards. I started to walk out of the stale, cramped room when I hear him whimper. Like a dog almost, but still human in it’s plea.

“Look, main, you can’t leave in dis.” Red grabs the chain holding his left hand with white-knuckled fingers. “You’ve gotta let me leave.” A beam overhead snaps, raining dust and splinters on our heads. Involuntarily, Red screams and tries to lift both hands over his head. The chains stretch and pull taunt. His right hand shakes like a cut rag doll and his scream turns from fright to undiluted pain. He tries to cradle his mutilated hand with another whimper as more wood and plaster rains from above.

I smirk and turn on my heel as the door opens on my own accord. Red’s screams of defiance, pain, and horror becomes completely drowned out by a crash of metal, plaster and wood that I violently drag down to create his tomb.

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