Sadistic. Yeah. That’s a word for it. That’s a good word for it. Deriving pleasure from someone else’s pain. Yeah… sadistic. That’s a real good word for it. Perverted? That depends. That depends on where you were born, when you were born, who raised ya. All that culture mumbojumbo. What makes a man or dame. Yeah, that kinda garbage.
So, yeah, sadistic. That’s definitely a good word for it. She is one sadistic dame. A very, very sadistic dame. All this time I thought she was in love with me. What a crock. What a shame. What a dud I turned out to be. Can’t even tell the good dames from the bad anymore. Maybe I deserve it.
She was good to look at though. I’ll give her that. Real good to look at. I remember the first time I saw her she was wearing a red dress, heels, sporting a black purse and that long and wavy blonde hair. She had quite a package and she knew it. She knew it and she used it. She walked me right into it and I came with my tail wagging and drooling from the mouth. A real dog.
But I was a loyal dog. That’s one new trick she taught this old dog. Loyalty. Ha, loyalty to a dame. Never thought I’d fall prey. But… I did.
So, here I am. Sitting. Waiting. Bleeding. Slowly bleeding. My life draining. My life ending. By the time I saw what she was, I was in so deep there was no reaching the surface again. And she did it. She did it. She took the money, kissed the crook and away they went. But not without saying goodbye. She knows her manners, she just doesn’t know the proper way to put it. They tied me down and took turns.
The pieces of bamboo jammed underneathe my fingernails was pretty creative; I gotta hand it to her there. And it hurt. But, not as bad as when they sawed my toes off. Now that… that hurt. And oddly enough, they cooked and ate a few right in front of me. So, yeah, sadistic.
Then there was the rusty nails. Ah, the rusty nails. They hammered rusty nails into my body. Anywhere. Anywhere you can imagine, I got one or two. So even if I do survive this, I won’t survie the diseases they left me. They weren’t much into sterilizing. I guess when you know the outcome in the beginning, there isn’t much point now is there.
Let’s see, what else? Ah, yes, they ironed my skin. Didn’t want me being all wrinkled for the mortician I guess. He’s got feelings, too, apparently. A little judgmental of those who grace his table. Didn’t want to be ashamed to be fondling my naked, wrinkled skin. Everybody has their limits. Gotta draw a line somwhere, I guess. How considerate of them to think of him. How considerate indeed.
I’m having a hard time remembering everything they did to me. After a while you stop keeping track, because you realize you’re not gonna live through it. The hair! Ah, the hair. They scalped me. I wasn’t a big fan of that one. But you get the point; I’m pretty dinged up. Got a few dents in the old motorcade. I eventually realized the longer I lived, the more pleasure they got. So, at least for spite, I stopped thinking of surviving and started thinking of dying. Just so I could upset them a little bit. But… apparently, my body can put up with a lot. In the end, they ran out of ideas and left me for dead.
The last thing they did before they left was they added a little salt to my injuries. And I mean that literally. They seasoned me well and then they went on their way. So, yeah, sadistic is a good word for it. It was all planned. From the beginning. From when I first saw her walking into the cafe. From the moment she introduced herself. It was all part of the plot.
It was sadistic alright. Real sadistic.