Caution - graphic violence follows....
I want a room that is mine forever. It should be in a secret place, away from everything I own or know. It must be walled with matte finish steel, with a drain in the floor. The ceiling should have a large skylight, or several, with large meathooks on chains hanging down from beams in between the skylights. There should be a lighted case on the wall with my special tools inside. I want the sun to shine down into my pretty little abbatoir. I want to use it with you.
I want to hold your eyes with mine as we talk, with my silly light words and my smiles and laughing eyes. I want to convince you to come with me, telling no one where you are going. It's just a little game that you and I are going to play, nothing's going to happen, of course you are perfectly safe with me, of all people.
It doesn't even cross your mind that you wouldn't be. The urge to hurt you intensifies. After what you did to me so many years ago, and nothing has ever come of it, what could I possibly do to you now that would even begin to be a problem? What have I ever been able to do to you anyway, that could even begin to be anything more than a slight irritant? I am powerless, objectified, in our relationship. You hold all the power. So you come along with me as you think of the really important things you must do today, people you need to call, people you need to control. This small favor to me won't take long - you owe me that much.
The task of hanging you from one of the meathooks hanging from the ceiling seems to be the hardest task to complete. I may need some help with it, somehow, from somewhere. But after you are hanging there, the rest is easy. The urge to kill literally roars in my blood; I need to lash out and take you, you bastard, you bitch, from this world that you think you understand so well. I want to take a sharp, long, pretty knife and stab your vital organs (your heart, your liver, your stomach), slash into your muscles and tendons, separating, lifting, disabling your arms, your legs. I long to slowly and tenderly slice long red lines across expanses of your pale skin.
I want to see how you look when I peel your useless shell from your body, carefully trimming the fat from the skin so it can slowly peel back, leaving you to look more than naked, less than human, like a side of beef hanging from a hook. I want to plunge my bare hands into your guts, and walk away from you, watching as you sway in the breeze. As I slowly back away from you I unravel your intestines, freeing them from their pitifully cramped space inside your body.
I gently hook them to the other wall of my pretty little abbatoir, and light a match - now set them on fire while you watch. I'm hoping that you won't react well to torture. I want to hear you cry, scream, beg for mercy. I'm hoping you apologize and say all kinds of foolish things to me, hoping I will relent and let you free. Maybe if you do, I'll pretend to think about it, move toward you like I will take you off of the meathook; and then...slash/slash into some fresh part of you.
Revenge.
For your betrayal.
You are now the object.
I am now the player.
We have become one evil.
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