By Steve Dustcircle
The crimson flow from his ankles and wrists drained off his suspended body, and streamed toward the center of the room. His body hung in a Y from the ceiling, dangling from involuntary spasms, the slow suffocation slowly taking its toll.
Sweat and blood flowed from hair and streaked across his face in various directions from his struggling. His stringy hair, dark with perspiration and blood, hung past his listless eyes.
He was exhausted. And no longer struggling to free himself.
Abruptly he was awakened with a rude splash of cold water.
“Wake up, you,” the loud, accented voice commanded.
Rudy shook his head to sober himself up, his neck aching. He moaned in pain and tiredness.
The man who faced Rudy was a small, stocky man, with small, piercing eyes, and a thick mustache. His hair was parted on the side, and there was an earring in his right lobe.
“You tired yet, my friend?” There was urgency in his voice. Rudy tried to focus on the speaker, but was close to passing out again. His face cracked in pain “I said you wake up! Are you tired yet? Answer me!”
Rudy’s head did a circle, he trying to decide which answer was appropriate. Yes or No?
The man’s head nodded, as if revelation just came to him. “I see. You need to pay more attention when you’re being spoken at.” With this, he reached around Rudy’s neckline and pulled on the long hair and with squeezed his Adam’s apple with his other hand.
Rudy went into a spastic cringe, but unable to scream or howl. Fresh tears flowed from his crusty eyes, his body contorting into the pain.
Satisfied with the response, the man shoved Rudy away by his throat.
“You Christians disgust me, you know that? So closed-minded. So narrow. I mean, there’s a lot of people that bother me, but you Christians—I don’t know what it is about yous—but you really piss me off. Do you really believe all of that stuff? Do you really?”
He paused, prowling around Rudy’s hanging, dying body.
“Enough to die for it . . . Slowly?”
Copyright © 2006 Dustcircle Fiction