In the makeshift concentration camp I’d created, I watched the genocide phenomenon: Awesome! The chamber was filled with d-trans-Allethrin. My eyes glowed with satanic fury as they writhed in pain. Some of them moved across the chamber at Schumacher’s pace, eventually ending with a perpetual sleep. There was the ubiquitous low frequency groan, the most bizarre death wish. However, some of them survived. The usual practice was that they were smashed to death, blood oozing out of their body, making a horrid sight. But no, that was a fad. The ones that survived twitched and turned and struggled for ‘breath’ in their last moments on the planet. They were to die a painful death, partly because, they were female, partly because they were Dracula’s living ‘descendants’, too addicted to inhuman stuff. Little did they know that their tormentor-in-chief, had less mercy and had invented a new form of torture to keep up his insanity.
The survivors’ legs are amputated. They are then left to their own fate. When they groan in pain, the only thing I could say was: “YOU DESERVE THIS”. No mercy for enemies. The Mahabharata suggests that two people necessarily with the same rank in the Army only could fight against each other. Of course, they were no match for me, but a sport as it is, for me, amuses me.
When the left is amputated (Sorry, No anesthesia), the leg twitches for a couple of seconds. The Amputee doesn’t shout immediately. After a couple of minutes, spins around, makes a groove : A perfect Disco Gesture : Then they manage to remain pathetic for sometime, making an insane buzz, folding their legs like the foetus in the womb, as though hibernating. I guess this gives them strength.
When the genocide-savvy tormentor is off for a coffee-break, they wriggle themselves to freedom, escape Osiris’s Clutches. When His Majesty returns, the unlucky ones are hunted down, this time their heads smashed to the floor. The carcasses are sometimes strewn across the mortuary, sometimes fed to the lizards. When the obese lizards have completed their meal and Burp! Yuck! Insanity!!!!!
S Harshavardhan
The Tormentor-in-Chief
The survivors’ legs are amputated. They are then left to their own fate. When they groan in pain, the only thing I could say was: “YOU DESERVE THIS”. No mercy for enemies. The Mahabharata suggests that two people necessarily with the same rank in the Army only could fight against each other. Of course, they were no match for me, but a sport as it is, for me, amuses me.
When the left is amputated (Sorry, No anesthesia), the leg twitches for a couple of seconds. The Amputee doesn’t shout immediately. After a couple of minutes, spins around, makes a groove : A perfect Disco Gesture : Then they manage to remain pathetic for sometime, making an insane buzz, folding their legs like the foetus in the womb, as though hibernating. I guess this gives them strength.
When the genocide-savvy tormentor is off for a coffee-break, they wriggle themselves to freedom, escape Osiris’s Clutches. When His Majesty returns, the unlucky ones are hunted down, this time their heads smashed to the floor. The carcasses are sometimes strewn across the mortuary, sometimes fed to the lizards. When the obese lizards have completed their meal and Burp! Yuck! Insanity!!!!!
S Harshavardhan
The Tormentor-in-Chief
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