I want to see you in pain

Beatrice Costello

My right ear asked for rest from the incessant sound and even with the pain I let the music take over, when you lose your mind do you feel free or alive?!

It wasn't the time to hold back the pain, not when my demon needs to sing when my mind needs to feel the blood heating. I watched his eyes tremble, his breathing out of rhythm and the sweat on his forehead instigating the worst in me, something I never imagined would be possible as a distant dream coming true, now. I chose the dull-edged axe.

I raised the axe, letting the blade catch on the bone of the ankle, making a swinging motion as if I were chopping wood, to draw it not from a piece of wood but from the bone, repeating the movement and seeing how his eyes They turned and looked down to see that I'd left only a stump in place, their growls reverberating around the room with isolation blending with the music. I dropped the ax on the table listening to a brief sigh of relief, although his look now carries a challenge, what he doesn't imagine is that hell is here, he was the one who taught me that by teaching me that between the walls of this basement, the one with power is the judge and the executioner. I grabbed a cloth and walked to her little closet, found the acid I needed, and came back pressing the acid cloth to what was left of her ankle. Her body writhing with pain, kneeling I lifted my gaze to meet his, the pain reverberated through my lip as the knee broke the skin, I licked tasting the viscous liquid and smiling with pleasure.

I am your executioner, your owner, your hell, the only one capable of having your love because we are dirty, we are made of the same rottenness.

My troubled and dazed mind brought back the unfortunate words, memory is a disgusting bitch.

I used the same red ball I was forced to wear, which made the sight bring me such distorted pleasure. Seeing him like this, helpless, I feel that I am taking his throne.

Is this who I am now? A version of it?

An executioner like Stefano has been all these years.

I got up looking at the work as a whole, the sculpture that will live on in my memories, it would have been more difficult without my brother's help to secure it to that butchery rod, convincing him was complicated, but it was worth the pleasure of reciprocating all your love is mine alone.

-This is our love. -I say smiling, standing up, choosing the new weapon on the table. – Let me show you.

And that will be my most pleasant memory.

Every 'I love you' is returned in its way, using the moment to avenge every child he raped in front of me and every child he took from me.

I took the metal stick swinging from one foot to the other feeling the music command my movements, when the bass reached the apex I rotated my hips and hit him in the ribs listening to the sound of bones breaking, like a soft melody.

I shook my head, watching what the next point would be and suddenly it didn't make sense anymore, nothing made sense, nothing but a battered, panting piece of meat reduced, only everything ends one way or another and the end isn't always a happy one. fairy tale. Despite the seeping pleasure, the feeling of finally satiating that ravenous little bloodlust, I was consumed by the desire to see him in pieces, like all the pieces he had made of me.

With a cleaver I began the cuts, making sure to let him feel each one of them his eyes rolling in pain, heightening my pleasure and the moans filling the space and the drool running down the red ball, the blood splattering all over the room, I let go of the cleaver and grabbed a knife, reaching into his abdomen and slicing open his guts from one end to the other, falling to the ground, the pleasure of killing becoming a part of my soul, his eyes losing a life.

I started with them, that part that one day eluded the little world of fantasy making me believe that I could be happy inside the mafia, I stuck the knife in each of his eyes, I put each one in a small box, I walked to the other side of the room pulling the metallic drum positioned just for that, his feet thrown across the room were flung like a basketball, I caught the guts throwing inside the drum.

Without an ounce of compassion or pity for the dead.

“With the cleaver will take a long time,” I blurted out loud to the corpse in front of me.

I took the knife and cleaver to the table picked up the axe, made the throwing preparation and there goes a thigh ready to be shattered.

And in this ritual of disemboweling every piece of the body, I expelled every painful memory, every hurt, not even if everything goes wrong, this small moment will always be my victory.

I took the gallon of gasoline threw it inside the drum, climbed on a stool, and untied the trapped hands adding to the small barbecue, his head at the bottom without eyes coming towards me drew a laugh. I pulled back enough to lean the tired body against the door, picking up his pack of cigarettes and lighter.

As soon as I threw the lit lighter into the gas, I puffed on my first and only cigarette.

Feeling all the lies being burned by the fire next to the man who was once my husband, the intense blue eyes promising and swearing a non-existent love with each beating, forced my mind for a single moment to think I was guilty of his evil deeds.

Am I losing my sanity?

Losing myself from reality?

The cigarette is gone, and the flames continue to consume all the fuel, the smell of burning flesh must have settled on my skin.

But I wanted to be there and nowhere else in the world, to see what for a single moment was the air I breathed, the master of my demon turns into ashes is like coming without having sex. And though no one could take his place, even in death he is my deepest pain, my most open and most sun-exposed scar.

The dream of a happy life and of building pure love with a big family is my dream of a margarine commercial that just went up in smoke.

I waited that at some point regret would strike, that the pain would make me numb, that the air would fail. Still, by some joke of fate, I felt my lungs draw in the air comfortably for the first time and felt pleasure filling my veins. I rolled my eyes at the mess, that was the only moment of discomfort I felt.

Drink me, feed me, and let me show you the light.

My demon seemed finally free of its shackles and through some madness, that's comforting.

I took the alcohol from the shelf beside me and walked towards the dirty ax on the table, with a new flannel, I started to clean the blood, smelling the rust and watching the shine of the ax appear.

I continued the same process on each knife, each razor, each needle, and each plier, all the last twenty-four hours I've spent here have paid off. Every scream of pain present within memory is kept especially in a place where the past cannot be forgotten.