Monday, August 24, 2009

The Storm Rages Within.

The Storm Rages Within.

The storm rages within. I can’t quite believe my actions. My eyes deceive me as the bloody fragment of speech lays in the capable grasp of my left hand and the razor sharp blade in the death-like grip of my right. I’m dealing out my own brand of justice this evening and it’s quite satisfying. His eyes are bloodshot and streaming uncontrollably with saline. The noises that escape his throat are deep and muddled. He’s drowning in his own blood. Serve him right. Speech is a miracle given to man as a tool to utilize to his best abilities. Not to be misused for inappropriate candor. How often do we choose the wrong words? Often. Too often are the wrong words used to convey messages. The television and radio are poor examples of proper etiquette. Sometimes I think that is why people lack the proper manners and discipline.

“Cat got your tongue?” I laugh methodically as I’m sharpening the blade. I gagged him and he’s tied down to the pool table in the back of the bar. “You’re wondering how this is possible,” I boast, “how not one person is coming back here to see what’s happening. Right? See, the guy that owns this place, well he don’t like what you did to his little sister last week and I just don’t like your mouth. So we’re going to fix that problem.”

Who am I to be judge and juror? Well, quite simply put… I’m the victim. A woman, who’s refused to be someone’s kicking post any longer. So I’m cutting out his tongue for talking to me in the most offensive way. This will teach you some manners. What did he think that I was some cheap trifling whore who would think such filth to be flattering? Of course, I’m a moronic slut with the IQ of a peanut that jumps at such ample opportunities. Obviously as dim-witted as some of these types of women are, they don’t deserve to be treated that way. I’m teaching this bastard a lesson, since he can’t discipline himself. What do you do a dog that has no self control? Castrate him. This is my humane form of castration for this asshole and you know what, I think I’m being quite reasonable.

It’s a funny thing the mouth, the gateway to your digestive tract, home to a host of bacteria and disease. In fact some animals have cleaner saliva than humans. The tongue nestled right in the middle of your jaw. It’s just sitting there with impending speech on the cusp of execution waiting on the brain to process the right synapse to bring life into words. I’ve fashioned an interesting brace to hold open his jaw. It’s quite a ghastly device that even a dentist wouldn’t envy. Reach in and pull out the squirming creature. Slice in tenderly. My sharp knife makes quick of this unpleasantness. To hear the sounds of anguish escaping his open cavity doesn’t deter me. I can only see the end result: his never-ending silence. The knife tears and pulls at the soft tissue. Red pools around the hole before me, begins spill down his throat and out on his face. Completion. He has no choice but to swallow the blood. There is true justice: Swallowing your own words.

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