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By Destiny West

des

I have gotten used to the stench now, the odor is kin to pig farming. It gets into your clothes and hair and even works it’s way into every pore of your skin. You reek of the odor yet your own nose can’t smell it. Perhaps that is a blessing.

I watch, helpless yet curiously fascinated, as one of those brown little cockroaches scuttles over my chest. I can feel its tiny legs fluttering against my pale skin, it used to repulse me. It still does hold some disgust in the back of my mind. I can feel my brain telling my arm to smack it away but my arm won’t respond, it just lies there limp and ignorant of my torment. Now I watch it with cunning eyes, curious to its life. How pathetic a creature I am to find something so insignificant so damn exciting, but nothing much else remotely interesting happens around here and at least watching a living creature is more entertaining than watching the paint on the ceiling peel away from its bonds because of the humidity.

The cockroach catches itself in a bead of my sweat. Swim away I urge it, not wanting to watch it drown upon my own flesh and die. I am surrounded by death.

I swallow tentatively, a well of my drool has already begun to cascade over my lower lip and ooze its way down my chin. The feeling of the liquid, that sudden coolness against my tepid flesh stirs those familiar sensations in my bladder again. Now I can even hear the dripping of the tap in the dirt encrusted basin. Drip, drip, drip – will my torment never end? The pressure is getting worse, relax I tell myself, just let it go, you have no other choice. I succumb and release, feeling the heat of my infected urine purge itself down my thighs and trickle down the insides of my knees. It absorbs itself into the mattress, mingling and becoming one with the other urine stains. It goes on forever, the minutes seem like hours until I have finished.

I know what he will say, he will look at me with accusing-bastard eyes and verbally abuse me for my incompetence. Yet it’s his own fault, if he cared for me properly, tended to my needs, instead of keeping me confined to this bed, then I would not wet myself or end up lying in a pile of my own feces. For punishment he will leave me longer to wallow in my own filth. What do I care though, I have nothing to care about now. I know that soon and with his help I will depart this God-forsaken earth. My time is coming and I have accepted it

I have watched the others go before me. I have watched him stuff their puny abused corpses into the bags and drag them away to God-knows-where. I even welcome pain to escape this torment. How it would be to feel anything real.

My body has become so accustomed to the sharp blows of his fists. I do not feel them now. Nor do I feel the bed sores that have opened small circular patches upon the flesh of my back from how I am forced to lie all day. At times I feel the puss oozing from these sores and I hear the insistent buzzing of flies trying to make a meal from them. I’m an all you can eat buffet.

Genital region is a smorgasbord of crap and dried urine, on some occasions you will even catch a oozing of jism from he had fucked me. Fucken Bastard, he likes the helpless, I’ve seen him fuck corpses. He likes the feel of our hip bones sticking into his groin as he humps us, bellies slapping bellies. His perfect fucking smile peering down at me, that look in his dark eyes as he shoots his foul load within my withering cunt.

But who is he to know that I secretly enjoy it. I love to be fucked hard. But I pretend to fight it for fear my compliance might turn him off me.

I have lost count of the days that I have been here. There is nobody out there to miss me, no family and no friends of real significance.

I am alone in this world and for that tragedy here I am.

I have lain here and watched my own body wither away from his sadistic neglect. I have watched the others before me wither away and die at his hands. He usually keeps us together in this room, there are four beds, including mine.

There are only two of us at the moment. The other, she is too weak to talk now, she is bordering on death and there are times when I look at her lying opposite me and think that death has already been her salvation. Her eyes always stare into nothingness, so blank and void of life. He has not bathed her or fed her in days. For the first time in days I heard noises from her during the night. All the hours blend into one here, the only way I can distinguish night from day is by the small gap between the blind and the window. A small amount of sunlight filters through that meager slit sending a solitary beam of sunshine down upon the linoleum floor. I have watched that beam of light, watched as the dust particles floated in its haziness.

Then there is the insistent droning from the fluorescent lighting tube that dangles precariously from the centre of the room. That light always remains on, here there is no true darkness, only the darkness of our existence.

Since I was first brought here, I have known of ten others to have come and gone. I have watched them die at his hands. Watched their life slip away, watched as he removed their now frail, bruised and battered bodies from their beds. Sometimes in death he would still leave them where they lay. Their bodily fluids had already expelled from their orifices and soaked into the bed. Their flesh had begun to bloat and discolour into a sea green yellow. He would come back to visit them, come to expel his own vile bodily fluids into and upon their naked decaying bodies.

He would contort their bodies into crude positions and fuck them hard with frenzied passion before our eyes.

I remember one of the woman that had laid in the bed next to mine, she is long gone now. Her body disposed of. I recall that she was one of his favourites, oh yes he does have his favourites, the ones he gives a little more attention to. Not the good type of attention, like for example more food or water. There was no ‘good favourite.’ Only the ones he likes to fuck a little harder, a little more often. So none of the women have been wanting that kind of attention from hi, but once he sets his eyes on you, well there is nothing you can do about it. Your body is going to comply to his sadistic demand. This woman that was next to me, she would lay fucken rigid in her bed, keep her legs as tightly shut as possible. She had just been bought to this hell hole, had a lot more strength then and defiance too. He would beat the shit out of her, but she would fight for all it was worth. When he would leave her alone, I would turn my head to face her and watch her doe-like eyes terrified and pleading. Her body would be so painted with bruises and cuts and she would look back at me.

‘Don’t fight it.’ I would whisper to her. ‘No point in fighting it, just turns him on more.’

That was the goddamn truth, this sicko loved the fight. Most rapists do don’t they? I had remember hearing that if you were ever being attacked sometimes it was better just to play dead, let him do what he wants and get it over and done with, less likely to get hurt or killed then. Sure as I lie here, he loved how most of them trashed and clawed him, though he equally liked them stiff like boards with rigor mortis set in. Though that was more of a power thing to him, he got off on the power of still being able to fuck them, perhaps with their souls watching and the lords eyes upon him, he wasn’t a true necrophilic at heart.

Sorry if I’m going off track, my mind’s slipping nowadays. That abyss is calling and if you were in my position I don’t think you would fight it.
This woman the one beside me, he got so sick of beating her that he really snapped one day, went completely off the handle and cracked her hip bones like they were twigs. Dislocated them clean from their sockets, so he could man handle her, put her legs in any position he liked and she could do nothing. The pain made her pass out. I watched as he fucked her every way possible that day. Even took the time to pull out her remaining teeth with pliers so her mouth was all gummy-red and he fucked that hole, shoved his needle like cock straight down her throat while holding her hair and pounded it in and out of her head. Sprayed his jism all over her face, glued up her eye with its white hot slime. Then he had flipped her over and become bone hard again, never seen a man so virile and ready to go so fast. He rammed his cock into her arsehole dry, I swear I could hear the flesh around her rim tearing like a perineum rips when a woman gives birth to a real big baby. Tore her right through to her cunt, both holes blended into one big gapping mess.
I could see and smell her feces backing up out of her hole and spilling down onto his cock and smothering his balls in its filth.

She died a day or so later, suffered cruelly too. He didn’t’ tend to her wounds, just rolled her onto her back, covered her with a sheet and left her to die. Didn’t even look at her again, only when the smell was so bad that he knew she was dead. Then he came in pulled back the sheet revealing her bloating frame and stuffed her head first into a body bag and dragged her from the room.
A day later I had a new companion and he didn’t even bother to turn the mattress, just put her straight in the bed on top of the dried stains of excrement and blood.

Here comes that familiar sound again, I can hear him walking down the hallway; he visits at least three times a day. I watch as the large door swings open and he walks in dressed all in his crisp white uniform and slush puppy nursing shoes.

‘How’s my geriatrics today?’ He sneers arrogantly.

How does he think we are? Forgotten, slipped through the cracks in the system. Left to wither away in a government-run hostel for the aged. Where conditions are worse than a third world country hospital. Where we are starved and abused by staff and left to die alone in our beds. All because we have no money and no family to care for us.

He comes over and stands at the end of my bed holding the rusty bed pan, sneering at the small of shit and piss rising from my bed.

‘Couldn’t fucken wait for this could you?’ He yells and throws it at my head. I feel the sharp pain and then………………………………..

‘Bout time you fucken died you old bitch.’ He laughs and unzips his pants.

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