Another Creative Writing group prompt – we had to write 500 words and tell the story from two perspectives.
You’ll notice the occisional # – when you’re done reading, scroll to the bottom for instructions, then read again!
Twenty three hours. Used, neglected, forgotten, alone. #
Munshifa was left splayed across the rack and imprisoned in the dark for almost a full day; her body bent over itself in an unnatural arc where she draped atop the wooden frame. She had been left in this position since the last torture session, her extremities numb and her body naked. #
It had been a short but laborious sort of water torture, in which she was thrown roughly, distorted violently, and drenched. It was also not the first time. # In fact, Munshifa could not count the innumerable times that she had been abused # – the ritual was a daily occurrence, and always had been. Perhaps the long periods of time stretched over the rack was purely so that she could dry off before the next round. #
The lights came on suddenly, and an ominous whirring began up in the far heights of the chamber. A day had passed. The regularity of the torture was the only method of keeping time. Back in the early days, there was some semblance of the hours between visitations, but it had long since skewed into an endless cycle of darkness and pain.
The Torturer entered. This all-too-familiar beast was the only person to ever come and go from the room – through the door fast enough that no glimpse of the outside world were possible. Munshifa might have winced at their arrival, but remained lifeless over the rack. #
The event began with the Torturer disappearing behind a curtain to prepare the tools of cruelty. Sounds of rushing water and terrible wailing emanated from that unseen place – an unholy dirge heralding the coming ceremony.
The time had come. The Torturer emerged from behind the veil and effortlessly plucked Munshifa from her wooden arch. It might have been her weakness that made it so easy for her to be manhandled and tossed about, it might have been the unnerving strength of the persecutor; she did not give it contemplation. #
Over a gruelling matter of minutes, Munshifa’s body was twisted, crushed, folded and unfolded in a punishing dans macabre. Every blow was met with the drowning splatter of old liquid, enough to choke and gag. She was wrung and pulled by the trained hands of the Torturer, the screw and squeeze of each sodden mangle reminiscent of the previous day’s movements – rarely was there deviation from the ritual. Munshifa was forced into dark, moist, odious nooks and stretched to the point of almost tearing. #
As suddenly as she was removed from the rack, she was once again thrown atop it, her back contorting again to the arc, though now saturated with the water from her torture and weighted by it, so that she snapped audibly on impact, and hung heavy. #
The Torturer’s task complete, they left the chamber – not affording Munshifa even a final glance. Once the door was shut, darkness returned all at once, and the whirring far above her came to an end.
Used, neglected, forgotten, alone. #
Jalad emerged from the shower and dried herself with an old towel.
Replace “#” with “Because she was a towel” and read again. 😛