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Rated: E · Other · Horror/Scary · #1393609
These things happen, I washed my hands.
Intoxicating, that what she said his touch was. A brief look into the torrid affair I had denied existed for too many months. They had made love, and had made it theirs. With each moment together they had cemented a confidence in my nativity to them. With my cement,  I made it so he wouldn't be able to move as I slowly pierced his limbs with bamboo skewers. His so called manly body became putty with each scream for mercy.  The chest she had fallen asleep on so many times, now streaked with blood and peeling flesh. He cried for me to stop, but I have problems with my ears. So I kept on with my masterpiece, it was a labor of lost love if you will. It felt good to let him know that I knew, he didn't have to pretend that he didn't have those feelings. On the flip side of that, I was going to make sure he would never see her again. I thought long and hard as to the way I was going to extract his eyes, see I was going to dismantle all the features she thought made him great enough to cheat on me with. His eyes had to go. The ice pick was too primitive, any caveman could think of that. I figured just in case I did get caught, I wanted the detectives to have respect for my work in being more complex. I could picture them in conversation,"this guy is fucking brilliant." So it had to be different, than it hit me. Thread them. I took a threading needle with a string a little bit stronger than usual, and from one side of the eye I penetrated the gooey mass and threaded it to the other side. I tied a knot in the front with a little bow to look pretty, I should have used a pink color for his obviously superior masculinity. It was way too much fun, revenge is sweet. The main thing she loved about him I took away far before his torture. I got him fired from his job, she loved his money the most. Than, under strange circumstances, his car blew up in the parking lot of the bar they always went to together. So it was down to the physical pain, my favorite part. It was now time for his intoxicating fingers and hands. I strapped his wrists to a hardwood table with leather belts, again it was a question of what tool do I use? Hedge trimmers, butcher knife, or pruning shears? Hedge trimmers it was, one by one I took each finger to the bone and let them dangle as if they being pulled by a puppeteers string. Then I broke them off with a pair of pliers. How would he ever be intoxicating now? Dear reader, think me not strange for the things I've done, just be thankful that you've never lied to me with those words I love you. It was really therapeutic, and nobody ever found out. I took care of the mess, and they wont ever find a trace of him. 
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1393609-Confessional