Escape From Imprisonment [Archive]

Cash

07-13-08, 12:24 PM

“You need to get out of here.”

“I know that.”

“It's all her fault.”

“The hell are you going on about now?”

“The girl you idiot.”

“Oh that narrows it down.”

“Cecil Delarian you insanity riddled fuck.”

Now I knew who the voice was talking about. Cecil Delarian was the sole reason I was where I am today; alone in one of many identical 10 X 5 cement rooms with nothing but a hay stack for me to sleep on and a hole in the floor for when I needed to take a shit. She was the reason why I, the bastard son of the Jya, the rightful heir the throne of Fallien, the savior of the Cult, was forced to wear nothing but old rags for clothing and why every morning the guards came, drug me away and subjected me to whatever torture they saw fit for that day.

Actually, now that I think about it, let me clarify that. I assume that every morning I am tortured because now that I think about it – and believe me this fucking place doesn't give me much else to do except think – there are no windows in the this place nor are there any cracks in the doors, so I don't actually have any sort of way, outside of my body clock which I'm sure by now has been thoroughly screwed up, to tell when it's night or day. Sure this place isn't insulated so I guess when it starts to feel like somebody locked me in a goddamn furnace that means it's day and when it cools off so that only the floor is a little warm that means it's night. Right?

“Insanity riddled? Couldn't you have just called me insane, or psychotic? Besides I partially deserve to be here.”

I don't know how long I've been here and truth be told, it doesn't really matter. There's no sense of time in this place, not for me nor any of the other inmates, whom I know exist because I can occasionally here their screams. Those are good days here. Every morning the guards would torture me, then when they were done they would toss me into my room, give me a plate full of some indiscriminate mush that was a combination of meat so bad a starving rat wouldn't go near it and what vaguely tasted like rice or wheat then, sometime later, I would go to sleep and the cycle would repeat again.

“How can you possibly say that?”

“Because if I had been able to keep my shameful fetish under control I wouldn't be here in the first place.”

My shameful fetish was the reason I was sentenced indefinitely to this horrible place. You see I discovered at a young age the pleasures of torturing others. To me it was like sex. No, wait, I take that back, it was better than sex. Sex got boring after awhile, there were only so many things me or my partner could do but with torture I discovered that my only limits were my imagination. I hated myself for it, tried to suppress those twisted, lust induced desires of mine, but those desires would often become to great not to indulge them. Perhaps my will power is weak or perhaps, deep down, I don't actually want to suppress them.

I'm still trying to figure that one out myself.

Cecile was the last victim of this fetish of mine. I'll never forget her. A petite thing with silver eyes that glistened in the starlight, hair as red as the desert sands, tan skin, a strong, powerful look and a curvy figure. I remember distinctly how her pleasure turned to pain when she found out it wasn't her vagina I intended to penetrate and how she whimpered and squirmed when the tip of my knife touched her clit. I also remembered how it turned out that bitch was a practitioner of witch craft and how in ways I still don't understand she used her magic to prove my guilt, prove that she was not my first victim and make it so that even my followers had no choice but to lock me away.

“So one night of pain for some rich little noble brat is justification for a years worth of suffering on your end. Wilrevere, if you believe that then you truly have gone insane.”

“Quit your bitching. If I was sane you wouldn't even exist.”

The voice had a point though. It always did. Not surprising since that it was basicaly a manifestation of my conscious thoughts. I'd already been here a year and if I didn't escape I would be here for countless more, probably until the guards fucked up and accidentally killed me. Yeah what I did to Cecile was horrible and I'll admit I deserved to be punished not just for her but for my other victims as well but shouldn't the punishment fit the crime. Wasn't well that the logical thing? Well? Wasn't it?

I had already suffered more than all of my unfortunate mates combined. Besides most of them had been lesser class women. Sure my society put women before men in term of reverence but still they were lower class humans. Servants, maids and prostitutes all of them. Cecil was the only one who came close to me in terms of importance. I may have done wrong to them but by sentencing me to spend the rest of my days getting tortured in isolation, she had done me far worse.

“But don't worry I won't be here much longer,” I said out loud. The voice didn't respond which was unusual. I was normally such a chatty little bastard.