He and It

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something I wrote when I was having a hard time.
I really wasn't concentrating on the writing as much as I was the story. I couldn't edit it because when I wrote this I was extremely angry at "It" and when I read it later on I wasn't feeling the same. I'm also not sure what's going on with the timeline. Sometimes it a continuation and sometimes it's different perspectives of the same time.

Submitted: February 08, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 08, 2013

A A A

A A A


He’d finally done it. He had captured the great Beast. For the last two years, all he had wanted to do was kill this fucking thing. And now, he will. He took out the blade he had been carrying around with him, the one the Beast had used. Slowly, he circled it.

The Beast never took his eyes off of him. Sweat was dripping from every pore in its body. Why was he doing this? It couldn’t understand why, after all these years, he was doing this. The Beast had never meant to hurt him. The Beast loved him. He started to circle it.

His heart was beating. Harder and harder. The excitement of what was about to happen was getting to him. Keep a clear mind. He knew exactly how he would do it. Two years to prefect the moment. Originally, he was just going to shoot it. No. The Beast deserved more. He quickly lost the idea of a quick death. This was more special. The Beast was going to be punished.

The Beast just sat there. It thought of escaping, but surely it would not be necessary. Would it? He had tied it well, and taped its mouth. What was he thinking about as he circled? The Beast just wanted to know why. He stopped.

He stopped. It was time. Never before had he felt so many things at the same moment. You wouldn’t know it though. If you were to look at him, all you would see was happiness. His smile stretched from one side of his face to the other. The first real smile in two years. The screams started as he began to slice.

He stood there. What was he thinking? Why did he have a knife? The Beast was starting to panic. Should it have attempted to escape earlier? He moved closer. Was he going to cut it loose? Surely that’s what the knife is for. He was smiling. The Beast started to relax. Too soon. He let out a scream as the blade pierced his belly.

OH MY GOD. This was amazing. He had never been in such a happy state of mind in his life. He was slicing the fat off its belly. The first step of the punishment. The blade was sharp, but he cut slowly. Making sure he didn’t go too deep. The Beast did not die yet. The last two years needed something more. Something personal.

He finished cutting. The Beast dared not look down at its belly. The breeze made it sting. But where was the breeze coming from? They were in a small room that had no windows. It would have thought there was no door if they didn’t come through it. He stood and dragged its belly to a nearby table.

Step Two had begun. He sliced the belly, into small bite-sized pieces. The excitement died down. It was serious now. This is where it happened. By the end of the next step, it would be time. He would be free. He still felt happy, even if he no longer smiled. He could hear The Beast whimpering. He placed a small fan outside the door, which was blowing cold air directly at its exposed wound. He was happy with his work so far. The cut was clean. You could almost mistake it for being painted red. He finished.

What was he doing at the table? The beast could only just see his back. The room was very dimly lit. The breeze still stung. It wasn’t getting any better. The Beast desperately tried to think of the reason. Why? Why was he doing this? It figured it was a very normal thought.  Humans always need to know why. He turned.

He took pleasure in the look on its face. It was scared. He felt his heart rate begin to rise. It should be scared. IT FUCKING SHOULD BE SCARED. He needed to calm down. As personal as this was, if he let his emotions get to him, he would mess up. He took a deep breath. He watched its eyes follow his hand as he grabbed a fork.

“Open wide” he said, in a dark, sinister voice.

What did he mean? Open wide? It was confused. The Beast honestly couldn’t figure out what was happening. It was about 10 seconds before he grabbed it by the neck, tipped its face so it was looking at the ceiling and shoved the fork in its mouth. The Beast was eating its own belly. It was horrified. The taste was so bad its tongue curled away. It spat the lump of meat at him.

He loved it. That sign of disrespect meant that now was the time for Step Three. He took the knife, wiped the blood from it on the side of The Beast’s face and held it high. He brought it down. The look on The Beast’s face was remarkable. He let out a laugh. He shoved another chunk of meat down its throat. It spat it out again. He repeated the process. Twice more. He was in bliss.

The Beast quivered as the blade touched its cheek. What was he going to do? It watched as he raised the knife above. It was horrified in how much pleasure he was getting from this. Shock. He couldn’t react. The Beasts big toe had just come clean off of its left foot. Before it could come to terms with what had happened, another fork-full of its own belly was shoved into its mouth. It reacted involuntarily and spat it out. Fuck. It knew what was going to happen next, so it tried to prepare itself. Twice more. It was in pain.

Finally, The Beast had learned its lesson. He didn’t want to have to cut off all of its toes. Not from pity, but because it would look better with no toes then with only some. He continued to feed The Beast its large belly, until it was all gone. This was it. He took the tray that held the meat back to the table. He wasn’t worried about The Beast getting the knife. He came back with a chair.

It swallowed the last mouthful of itself. It was crying. What had it done to deserve this? It couldn’t think properly. He gave it a smile and took the tray to the table. He left the knife. Did he know? Maybe he wants me to cut myself loose? Maybe he knows I won’t hurt him? No matter how hard it tried, The Beast couldn’t get the knife. It lost hope. It was there to tease it. The Beast was losing hope that this would end. He returned with a chair.

He placed the chair so that he could look directly into its eyes with no effort. He picked up the blade. This was it. The moment had arrived. The rush was immense. He felt so…so…he didn’t know the word. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He gripped the blade of the knife. He didn’t feel it digging into his skin. Cutting through his muscles and ripping apart his tendons. He held it until he felt it touch his bone. This wasn’t part of the plan, but he didn’t care. He was on such a high nothing could have bothered him. He took the handle of the knife with his right hand, held The Beasts head back with his bloody left hand and slowly, gently slit its neck.

He sat back and watched The Beast as the life drained from it. Satisfaction. It was all worth it. The last two years had come to an end. He was free. He could do what he wanted. The burden was gone. He continued to look into its eyes as the last drops of blood were leaving it. He could see the sadness in its eyes.

The familiar shout woke him. An extreme sadness washed over him. All of his accomplishments had gone. He had not captured The Beast. It had not died. Instead it remained a thorn in his hide. He got up, cursed it and continued on with his life. All the time knowing that, one day, it wouldn’t just  be a dream.


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