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"Torture."

A while ago, I wrote a story about a physchotic boy. Recently, I wrote a sequel to that, and have decided to post it. I have also posted the original story, since the story forum is no more and you need to read the fisrst part to get the gist. Enjoy them, and comments please.








From the start of his life, Billy was different from other kids. It wasn’t that he was mentally slow, or he was disabled, but he was just different, in a way that cannot be described properly. He never had any friends either. In school, he was a pariah, an outcast, an outsider, always by himself. Therefore he was picked on mercilessly by bullies. Billy built up a huge amount of hate and anger inside him, and so looked for an outlet for it.

He found it in torturing things that he classified as the lowest form of beings - insects. Billy liked to torture insects. At first, he would just burn them, or hold them under water with pincers until they drowned, or impale them on nails. He soon found out that he had a natural flair for torturing things, and soon thought up new methods. He would get a 9v battery and attach wires to it, then apply it to the fleshy underside of woodlice. How they squirmed! They would wriggle their little feet, and twist in pain and agony as Billy held them down mercilessly, with a sick twisted smile on his face as yellow liquid oozed out of their joints. Another slow death was to drop bugs into paint that was thick and gooey, and watch as they slowly sank down, as if they were in quicksand.

Billy was still being bullied in school, and as it grew worse he began to change. He changed inside, however. He became less humane, and his heart changed to stone. He felt no compassion for anything, and lost his conscience. Some people said, later on, this was the start of Billy’s metamorphosis to a psychotic.

In Billy’s little shed at the bottom of his garden, he began to prepare. He put a lock on the door. He put manacles and chains on the wall. He stole surgical items, such as scalpels and razor blades. He used the battery device that he normally used with a 9v battery and wires, only he used a car battery and jump leads this time. All extreme torture devices.

Billy picked his time well. He was waiting, a mallet in hand, in a grove of trees in the park, when Jimmy Reynolds was coming home from playing football. Jimmy Reynolds had made Billy’s life hell. He had made fun of him, he had beat him up several times, on a few instances he poured food and drink over him. Jimmy was Billy’s main antagonizer.

Billy sneaked up behind Jimmy as he walked past him. With one swipe of the rubber mallet, Jimmy lay unconscious at his feet. Billy looked furtively about him as he dragged Jimmy’s senseless body back to his shed. It was time to start torturing bigger things.




Part Two








The raggedly dressed man was thrown roughly onto the concrete floor by two uniformed and armed men, who then began kicking him viciously.
“Enough.” called out another man, who was positioned behind a table on a chair. These were the only two pieces of furniture in the room, which had no windows. It was painted a light gray, and the only source of light was a small bulb on the ceiling that dimmed occasionally. The man behind the table was wearing a creamy white suit. He was clean shaven, and middle aged. Beside him, resting against the table, was an ornately crafted cane fashioned out of ivory with a steel handle, made in the shape of a horses head. Behind the man in the white suit stood another man, shrouded in shadow. What was visible of him though showed that he was a pathetic figure. He wore old clothes, covered in stains, and his face was a deathly white. His hair was dirty blonde, but it was filthy and unkempt. On the table there was a notepad, a pencil and a backpack. The man in the suit spoke again.
“Come now Max. You honestly think I enjoy this? I know you don’t. But it can all be over. All you have do is tell me what I want to know. One, simple piece of information and this nightmare can all be over. So how about it, hmm?
“Fucck…you…” Max managed to say through clenched teeth, before he came under attack again by the guards.
The man in the suit gave an exasperated sigh, and shrugged his shoulders elaborately. The he settled down in his chair again and motioned for the man behind him to come forward. He did, and Max felt fear in his stomach as he saw the mans eyes - a feature that had been hidden in the shadows. The irises in his eyes were a stony grey, and the pupils were deep black. Neither eye showed any emotion, there was no spark of light, no glimmer of anything. It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul. If that is correct, then these eyes were soulless.

The man in the suit spoke again. “Here is my friend, Mr.Rogers. I had to bring Mr.Rogers in especially, just to deal with you. Mr. Rogers will do it though, as he is a master of his craft. Isn’t that right, Billy?
Billy responded with a curt nod of his head. Then, he moved forward to the table, and opened up the backpack. From it he produced a variety of items. A blowtorch, a jar full of a transparent liquid, like water only with bubbles, a plastic syringe, a rubber mallet he stroked and laid down carefully, a long wooden case, and a length of wire with two small bars at either end, usually used for cutting clay in half. He arranged all this carefully in plain sight, then gave a small step back.
“Don’t make Billy use this all this apparatus, Max. Tell me where your brother is and I will ensure you walk away from here alive.”
“Never Guano, you bastardd.” Max responded, spitting on the ground.
“Very well. Men, hold him down. Continue, Billy.”
With a small smirk of glee, Billy selected the gas jar and the syringe. He brought it over to where Max was being held by the two guards on the ground. Unscrewing the lid, Max was overpowered by the acrid smell that poured out from over the rim of the jar in a heavy thick vapour. Billy dipped the syringe into the substance and sucked up some of it, then placed the jar carefully on the ground beside Max, with the lid beside it. Max began to realize that it was a highly concentrated acid, and started to move violently in a vain bid to escape, but it was useless, as one guard had his knees on Max’s outstretched arms and the other was firmly positioned on his legs. Billy lowered the syringe until it was just a few inches above Max’s left eye. Desperate now, Max shook his head from side to side quickly, a manoeuvre that worked, until the guard holding down his arms with his knees used his hands to straighten up Max’s head. Billy squeezed out a drop of acid, and Max watched helplessly as it fell closer and closer, into his eye.

The pain was something that Max had never experienced before. It seemed that his whole eye had exploded, and all he could see was a blinding whiteness. Behind the eye, it felt like it was on fire, like his skin was melting. He let out a scream of agony, and he faintly heard Guano chuckle and say something about soundproofed rooms, and no-one to hear you scream. Max began to twist and squirm violently, and he could feel himself sweating badly. The guard tried to get a better grip on Max’s head, but one of his fingers slipped on the sweat and slid into Max’s mouth. Max bit down fiercely, and was rewarded with a crunching feeling, and mouthful of a hot substance, most likely blood. He spat out both, and heard the guard behind him yell in pain and shock, yet at the same time relinquish his hold on Max. It was the chance Max needed. He reached out to his left and picked up the open jar of acid, and threw it into Billy’s face. Billy, who had been rooted to the spot in shock, gave a roar of pain and fell backward, pawing at his face which seemed like it was melting. Two large pops could be heard, and Max knew Billy was feeling the same pain he had felt in his own eyes a few moments before.
The guard sitting on Max’s feet was fumbling about with his holster, trying to get his gun out. Max reached back and grabbed the gun from the nine fingered guard, then fired a shot point blank at him, and then another two shots at the guard at his feet. The first missed, due to the incredible pain Max was still feeling, but the second caught him in the throat and threw him back. Max got slowly up, and looked at Guano with his good eye. He was behind the table still, only he had the ivory cane levelled at Max’s chest, and it was obvious from the opening at the bottom that the cane seconded as a gun. So this is it, thought Max. This is how my life is going to end. He saw Guano tightening his grip on the handle, obviously pulling some hidden trigger, but then between them came something, and it went down as a loud bang was heard. Max looked at the ground and saw Billy lifeless at his feet. He had obviously been stumbling around, blind in his pain, and by sheer good fortune saved Max’s life unintentionally. Max looked up again at Guano, who had began to whimper. Another three shots were heard, and Max had left the room even before the echoes had faded.



* * * * *

A newsstand, somewhere in New York, 5 years later.


The news vendor was enjoying a cup of coffee when he saw the jogger approaching him. He was normal looking enough, wearing Adidas clothing and Nike trainers, but he wore large black glasses on his eyes covering them completely, similar to those worn by the blind.
“Daily Globe, please.” he said, in a low voice.
“That’s er, 95 cents please, sir.”
The man handed him the money then folded the paper beneath his arm, and began to jog away.
“A nice night,” the vendor called after him. “Makes you feel glad to be alive.”
The jogger stopped and lowered his head.
“Yes.” he said, quietly. “It makes you very glad to be alive.”

Cheers for that. I'll take your advice.

Excellent there mate. The gaps could be filled in to make a great movie.

The first installment was a lot less descriptive than the second and they didnt contrast too good. I think you could work on the first section a bit and beef it up with description and stuff as it is a bit linear.

All in all it is a good story mate.

A while ago, I wrote a story about a physchotic boy. Recently, I wrote a sequel to that, and have decided to post it. I have also posted the original story, since the story forum is no more and you need to read the fisrst part to get the gist. Enjoy them, and comments please.








From the start of his life, Billy was different from other kids. It wasn’t that he was mentally slow, or he was disabled, but he was just different, in a way that cannot be described properly. He never had any friends either. In school, he was a pariah, an outcast, an outsider, always by himself. Therefore he was picked on mercilessly by bullies. Billy built up a huge amount of hate and anger inside him, and so looked for an outlet for it.

He found it in torturing things that he classified as the lowest form of beings - insects. Billy liked to torture insects. At first, he would just burn them, or hold them under water with pincers until they drowned, or impale them on nails. He soon found out that he had a natural flair for torturing things, and soon thought up new methods. He would get a 9v battery and attach wires to it, then apply it to the fleshy underside of woodlice. How they squirmed! They would wriggle their little feet, and twist in pain and agony as Billy held them down mercilessly, with a sick twisted smile on his face as yellow liquid oozed out of their joints. Another slow death was to drop bugs into paint that was thick and gooey, and watch as they slowly sank down, as if they were in quicksand.

Billy was still being bullied in school, and as it grew worse he began to change. He changed inside, however. He became less humane, and his heart changed to stone. He felt no compassion for anything, and lost his conscience. Some people said, later on, this was the start of Billy’s metamorphosis to a psychotic.

In Billy’s little shed at the bottom of his garden, he began to prepare. He put a lock on the door. He put manacles and chains on the wall. He stole surgical items, such as scalpels and razor blades. He used the battery device that he normally used with a 9v battery and wires, only he used a car battery and jump leads this time. All extreme torture devices.

Billy picked his time well. He was waiting, a mallet in hand, in a grove of trees in the park, when Jimmy Reynolds was coming home from playing football. Jimmy Reynolds had made Billy’s life hell. He had made fun of him, he had beat him up several times, on a few instances he poured food and drink over him. Jimmy was Billy’s main antagonizer.

Billy sneaked up behind Jimmy as he walked past him. With one swipe of the rubber mallet, Jimmy lay unconscious at his feet. Billy looked furtively about him as he dragged Jimmy’s senseless body back to his shed. It was time to start torturing bigger things.




Part Two








The raggedly dressed man was thrown roughly onto the concrete floor by two uniformed and armed men, who then began kicking him viciously.
“Enough.” called out another man, who was positioned behind a table on a chair. These were the only two pieces of furniture in the room, which had no windows. It was painted a light gray, and the only source of light was a small bulb on the ceiling that dimmed occasionally. The man behind the table was wearing a creamy white suit. He was clean shaven, and middle aged. Beside him, resting against the table, was an ornately crafted cane fashioned out of ivory with a steel handle, made in the shape of a horses head. Behind the man in the white suit stood another man, shrouded in shadow. What was visible of him though showed that he was a pathetic figure. He wore old clothes, covered in stains, and his face was a deathly white. His hair was dirty blonde, but it was filthy and unkempt. On the table there was a notepad, a pencil and a backpack. The man in the suit spoke again.
“Come now Max. You honestly think I enjoy this? I know you don’t. But it can all be over. All you have do is tell me what I want to know. One, simple piece of information and this nightmare can all be over. So how about it, hmm?
“Fucck…you…” Max managed to say through clenched teeth, before he came under attack again by the guards.
The man in the suit gave an exasperated sigh, and shrugged his shoulders elaborately. The he settled down in his chair again and motioned for the man behind him to come forward. He did, and Max felt fear in his stomach as he saw the mans eyes - a feature that had been hidden in the shadows. The irises in his eyes were a stony grey, and the pupils were deep black. Neither eye showed any emotion, there was no spark of light, no glimmer of anything. It is often said that the eyes are the window to the soul. If that is correct, then these eyes were soulless.

The man in the suit spoke again. “Here is my friend, Mr.Rogers. I had to bring Mr.Rogers in especially, just to deal with you. Mr. Rogers will do it though, as he is a master of his craft. Isn’t that right, Billy?
Billy responded with a curt nod of his head. Then, he moved forward to the table, and opened up the backpack. From it he produced a variety of items. A blowtorch, a jar full of a transparent liquid, like water only with bubbles, a plastic syringe, a rubber mallet he stroked and laid down carefully, a long wooden case, and a length of wire with two small bars at either end, usually used for cutting clay in half. He arranged all this carefully in plain sight, then gave a small step back.
“Don’t make Billy use this all this apparatus, Max. Tell me where your brother is and I will ensure you walk away from here alive.”
“Never Guano, you bastardd.” Max responded, spitting on the ground.
“Very well. Men, hold him down. Continue, Billy.”
With a small smirk of glee, Billy selected the gas jar and the syringe. He brought it over to where Max was being held by the two guards on the ground. Unscrewing the lid, Max was overpowered by the acrid smell that poured out from over the rim of the jar in a heavy thick vapour. Billy dipped the syringe into the substance and sucked up some of it, then placed the jar carefully on the ground beside Max, with the lid beside it. Max began to realize that it was a highly concentrated acid, and started to move violently in a vain bid to escape, but it was useless, as one guard had his knees on Max’s outstretched arms and the other was firmly positioned on his legs. Billy lowered the syringe until it was just a few inches above Max’s left eye. Desperate now, Max shook his head from side to side quickly, a manoeuvre that worked, until the guard holding down his arms with his knees used his hands to straighten up Max’s head. Billy squeezed out a drop of acid, and Max watched helplessly as it fell closer and closer, into his eye.

The pain was something that Max had never experienced before. It seemed that his whole eye had exploded, and all he could see was a blinding whiteness. Behind the eye, it felt like it was on fire, like his skin was melting. He let out a scream of agony, and he faintly heard Guano chuckle and say something about soundproofed rooms, and no-one to hear you scream. Max began to twist and squirm violently, and he could feel himself sweating badly. The guard tried to get a better grip on Max’s head, but one of his fingers slipped on the sweat and slid into Max’s mouth. Max bit down fiercely, and was rewarded with a crunching feeling, and mouthful of a hot substance, most likely blood. He spat out both, and heard the guard behind him yell in pain and shock, yet at the same time relinquish his hold on Max. It was the chance Max needed. He reached out to his left and picked up the open jar of acid, and threw it into Billy’s face. Billy, who had been rooted to the spot in shock, gave a roar of pain and fell backward, pawing at his face which seemed like it was melting. Two large pops could be heard, and Max knew Billy was feeling the same pain he had felt in his own eyes a few moments before.
The guard sitting on Max’s feet was fumbling about with his holster, trying to get his gun out. Max reached back and grabbed the gun from the nine fingered guard, then fired a shot point blank at him, and then another two shots at the guard at his feet. The first missed, due to the incredible pain Max was still feeling, but the second caught him in the throat and threw him back. Max got slowly up, and looked at Guano with his good eye. He was behind the table still, only he had the ivory cane levelled at Max’s chest, and it was obvious from the opening at the bottom that the cane seconded as a gun. So this is it, thought Max. This is how my life is going to end. He saw Guano tightening his grip on the handle, obviously pulling some hidden trigger, but then between them came something, and it went down as a loud bang was heard. Max looked at the ground and saw Billy lifeless at his feet. He had obviously been stumbling around, blind in his pain, and by sheer good fortune saved Max’s life unintentionally. Max looked up again at Guano, who had began to whimper. Another three shots were heard, and Max had left the room even before the echoes had faded.



* * * * *

A newsstand, somewhere in New York, 5 years later.


The news vendor was enjoying a cup of coffee when he saw the jogger approaching him. He was normal looking enough, wearing Adidas clothing and Nike trainers, but he wore large black glasses on his eyes covering them completely, similar to those worn by the blind.
“Daily Globe, please.” he said, in a low voice.
“That’s er, 95 cents please, sir.”
The man handed him the money then folded the paper beneath his arm, and began to jog away.
“A nice night,” the vendor called after him. “Makes you feel glad to be alive.”
The jogger stopped and lowered his head.
“Yes.” he said, quietly. “It makes you very glad to be alive.”