Okay so, this is just a bit of second person throat-slitting whump, because I felt like it. I really didn’t give much context but you can imagine it in any setting with any characters. I know that @pythagoreanwhump, but if anyone else does, that’s just an added bonus. Take care, and have fun!
It takes all your effort not to stumble as you’re lead out into the circle of gathered spectators, your hands securely tied behind you with coarse rope. You’re roughly shoved down onto your knees, unable to keep your balance any longer. As you finally look around, you see the faces of your enemy, eyes shining with hatred or eager anticipation, or a chilling mix of the two.
“It is my pleasure to gather you here today to witness the death of someone who has caused us some amount of disruption,” comes the familiar voice of your captor from above. Her hand holds your shoulder with a vice-like grip, and you know that trying to run would be futile. Not that you could run, with what she’s put you through. The days and weeks have long since blurred into an endless haze of fresh agony, and you have given up on trying to keep track of the time you have spent in her all too capable hands.
“I can say with certainty that soon we will have dealt with the rest of this so called ‘resistance’”, she continues with obvious derision, “a name unfit for the disorganised group of terrorists that they are.” You want to interrupt, to put an end to her delusional self-righteousness, but a part of you is afraid of the consequences, however much you try to hide it. “We will crush your misguided attempts at rebellion, and the very people you’re trying so hard to protect will only thank us for it,” she goes on, and it is clear now that she is speaking directly to you.
Something inside you snaps, and you can’t take this anymore. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you shout out at the small crowd. “If you think that my people truly want you here, you’re lying to yourselves. They’re terrified of you and the crimes that you’ve committed against us. But your tyranny won’t last.” It’s easy to turn the growing tide of fear threatening to drown you into a wave of anger. Even as the cold metal blade of a knife comes to rest against your neck, you don’t let your voice waver. “It is an honour to die for freedom and liberty. Not that I would expect you to understand.”
“You’ve had your chance to talk,” she whispers into your ear, pressing the blade a little harder against your skin until it leaves a thin red line of pain. You will yourself not to react, even as your heart races and you can barely keep your hands from shaking. You know exactly what she is talking about, and the memory makes you shiver. Though the evidence is hidden from sight, you can still feel the echoes of pain from your broken fingers, the missing nails and the bruises and gashes under your bloodied shirt. Despite it all, you remind yourself with pride that you gave your captors nothing of value. You have nothing to atone for before death.
You swallow slightly, feeling the bite of the blade against your throat. “You can kill me,” you conclude, with a quiet finality, “but you cannot kill us all.” You wonder if she can feel your pulse quickening with trepidation under the cold metal. You have said all that you have wanted. Now all that is left to do is wait for the searing pain that signifies your end.
She laughs softly, tangling a hand in your hair to tilt your head up, and your gaze meets that of the spectators. You fix them with a glare, wondering if they can somehow tell that in your mind you picture their slow and painful deaths. Some of them look away, and you can’t help but smile. You resolve to keep your eyes open. After all, you would like to enjoy your last moments of brightness before the endless dark.
When it finally comes, it feels like you have waited an eternity, and still it is too soon. Pain blooms across your neck, and your body tries to scream but all that comes out is a choked groan. Your world narrows to the slow drag of the knife, the overwhelming taste of iron and the distant cheers from somewhere close to you. As the darkness in your eyes comes to a point, the last clear image of your mind is of your friends. You hope that they are proud of you.
A whumpee who's had their throat slit and crudely stitched back up. It was done in a freezer, when the whumpee was shivering, barely conscious, to ensure they wouldn't bleed out.
The stitches are uneven on a jagged cut, leaving a horrendous scar that spans the front half of their neck.
Maybe they used to sing such pretty songs and can now barely manage to croak out words or not at all. Maybe they take to wearing high collars to never see the scars, but they always know they're there.
5 Days In Soakaway: 12-Year-Old Girl Survives Throat Slitting By Yahoo Boys (Graphic Photo)
5 Days In Soakaway: 12-Year-Old Girl Survives Throat Slitting By Yahoo Boys (See Graphic Photo)
5 Days In Soakaway: 12-Year-Old Girl Survives Throat Slitting By Yahoo Boys (Graphic Photo)
A 12-year-old girl, Blessing Ineh, who reportedly went missing in Abraka, Ethiope East Local Government Area of Delta, has been found alive inside a soakaway.
It was gathered the the young girl was last seen on New Year Day after she was sent on an errand by her parents. She was found inside a soakaway…
I thought about shooting my parents for the first time.
I'm really considering it fuck killing myself. I could just walk in and shoot them. They have guns. They're are knives. I could slit their throats while they sleep or slit ones throAt and shoot the other. Or a complete double headshot. I'd laugh. I'm debating on if I'd want them to see me before I shot them. I'd love it. See that fear grow over in their eyes. Watch the light leave them as I pulled the trigger. No fear. No regrets. I could finally be free. I'd have to run of course. But I would be free Take my moms car, switch the license plates and go. Cam when I could. Fugitive on the run, could be really fun hahaha. Then go grab my girl and we'd live our life without any ties down. She's all I'll ever need.
