Gore se Soch Lo!

This post has been written for the ‘Soch Lo! Blogger Contest!’ in Indiblogger.

This post contains adult language and br00tal imagery in the bountiful. Those weak of heart are advised to stay away. But not before voting for this on Indiblogger.

Without further ado, the story begins…

I took in a whiff of the damp, mildewy air, while casting a disdainful glance at the pathetic figure lying on the floor shackled head to toe in chains and machinery. He was unconscious. I studied my watch. He could awaken any moment now. Masquerading as the Saw villain was an intricate job.  Some particulars of the attire had to be finished by virtue of the deftness of my hands, which I agree isn’t much in tasks requiring sewing and needlecraft. But the gears were rumbling along in the wake of complete efficiency akin to clockwork, and the atrocity yet to be unleashed made me smile beneath my mask.

His mouth twitched. Bathed in the sunlight from a loose shutter in the roof of the unlit workshop, his face reflected the uncontaminated tranquillity of obliviousness. The naked chest rose up and down in a rhythmic pattern, the portion below the waist was completely still in contrast. The mundane act of stripping him entirely had repulsed me, which, I agree, was a little amusing, seeing that something of that calibre still existed, or that I was yet human. Then had been the ordeal of clasping various bolts, chains, snapping beams in place, and thereafter, the satisfaction of beholding the masterpiece.

His eyelids prised open faintly. I primed myself to undergo the few tautological queries all of them would poise. And sure enough,

“W-where am I ?”

And as always I was mute, just observing. None of the faggots such as these deserved an answer, and certainly not this piece of reeking stool from the sewer. Moreover, the more important question does ultimately burst through to the top of the surfaces of their feeble minds. And when, the question being pelted with the gravity of the answer sinks back in to the murky waters of their cognition, they scream. They shriek. They wail for their mothers and beloveds. However, that is the part I adore.

He was now scrutinising the surroundings, his head darting furtively in random directions, looking every bit of the barmy buffoon I had pictured him to be when first given his description. His limbs flailed helplessly against the constraints, and the first pangs of phobia showed up on his face. The respiration became laboured, more and more dust now taken up by his mouth than his nose. The eyes, as I saw on the CCTV, could only define pure, primal terror. The rooster struggled helplessly against the cage for some more minutes before the hoarse emissions began. This was my cue. I flicked on the switch.

The sudden high pitched gurgle from the speaker startled him; the light from the LCD hanging directly overhead took some time to register on his retarded retinas. He blinked foolishly, making the angst within me that much more pronounced. I was careful to shred my voice of any emotion before enunciating in the deepest tone I could muster, “Greetings, Mr. Dixit!”

A fusillade of bewilderment escaped his throat. I waited for it to terminate before I voiced my next statement.

“I want to play a game.”

“P…please…n-no..take whatever you want…my family has a lot of money…” He was sobbing now.

“I possess no interest whatsoever in material wealth.”

“Why are…why are you doing this to me? W-what the fuck have I done? No..please…ple-please leave me alone…I am n-not a c-criminal..pleaaasssee!!”

“Oh, but I differ on your view Mr. Dixit, so will the 57 girls you have philandered with. Ohh yes Mr. Dixit, you have been quite the Casanova, and were only too happy to brag about it to your cronies before you were apprehended and brought here.”

“I am s-sorry…please…I beg you…ohh fuck n-no…”

“You have caused immense mental suffering to the members of the opposite sex, driving one among them to self-annihilation through drug abuse. You have absolutely no regard for their sentiments. Your sole purpose is to denigrate their worth, and you have been recently attempting a reprisal in the life of a woman whom you have already aggrieved in the past. Today, you shall endure physically what they have.”

“N-nooooooo!! Please…ohh fuck…ohh fuck…hey listen dude, I am sorry…I really am…I will go and personally apologise to her…I s-swear…I will apologise to all of them…just let me go!!”

“It is my turn to apologise now. It is a tad late for that to happen I am afraid. You would do better to listen to what your game entails.

Your hand is bound to a mechanised support which will slide into place once the countdown has begun. At the end of 120 seconds the two barriers beside your scrotum will converge. The drills will operate completely through your arms and legs, and you will cease to exist. That is, unless you finish your task.

You should be grateful, as the task relates to what you are best at doing.

The LCD above will beam a pornographic feature. You will be required to masturbate before time runs out.  However, the drills will penetrate a little at an interval of every 15 seconds. Now is the moment, when you shall truly fathom the exact definition of the phrase ‘pleasure with pain’.

Let the game begin.”

“Arrrghhh  nooo!! Somebody help me!! Pleas…ohh shit …ohh no NO!”

The beep indicating the initiation of the countdown emanated. I sat down on my desk, folding my arms behind me as this technological wonder of death swivelled the arm of the pitiable creature strapped to it to his groin. Dixit grabbed hold of his member as soon as it was in the vicinity of his hand, and peered with utmost concentration at the screen, but not before hollering his lungs out, as if dread was simply an entity that could be cast away vocally. The screeching, however, was lost to moans of carnal celebration now blaring though the speakers.

Kidnapping him hadn’t been quite a challenge. He had stumbled out in an inebriated condition out of the lounge and passed out in the backseat of his BMW. The chauffeur had already been done away with. He would be waking up in an hour in some desolate clearing of a jungle, prepared with a fable of how he had been drugged by a stranger.

A blood curling scream made itself heard out of the sighs. The first 15 seconds had passed now. I however, was faintly surprised by the fact that he had managed an erection. The bastard.

I knew it was wrong. Not the deed, but the ethics which I had wrestled with in and out of convoluted thought processes to justify abducting this one motherfucker. This wasn’t supposed to be a personal vendetta.  Yet here he was, pumping furiously, battling the steady stream of tears that ran down his face. She shouldn’t have mentioned it to me.

She definitely shouldn’t have.

I savoured the second scream that rent the air, closing my eyes, transporting myself to the restaurant I had met her on the last occasion. After about 15 minutes of normal jabber, she confided. He had called her, begging for a second chance. The contact of her naked hand with mine seemed distant then, even as she assured me that it wasn’t gonna happen. She was over him. She now belonged to me.

I looked though the glass, at the handsome face, sculpted as Michelangelo would have wished, as Satan would have been delighted in possessing. The effect of his eyes was hypnotic on females, as I did notice in the same lounge he was in, while he flirted ostentatiously with a bootylicious babe. The same face which appeared, oh so despicable when he spoke to his mates of my woman ‘I just wanna fuck her ass one last time’, the same face that now contorted in unbridled agony as the one being screwed was him.

His eyes were clamped shut now. The pumping remained unabated. Out of the sides of his arms I could see the blood spurting, blending in a distasteful mixture with his sweat, gathering in a pool on the floor, distributing into tributaries. The thought of impending death made him quite perseverant.

And much to my distaste, he went on, even after the drill pierced him the sixth time. It seemed to me that he was nearing completion. Something flared up against me. He had to die. He wasn’t supposed to beat me at my own game. Up and down, up and down, why the fuck cant he just die!

He spurted in a spasm of relief and victory. Sexual gratification was nowhere to be seen.

I toggled a switch, as a response to which the drills withdrew and left the whimpering son of a bitch on the ground. He wrapped his arms around himself gingerly, curling. His face, as I witnessed it, was rapidly changing into an antagonistic shade of red.

“Congratulations Mr. Dixit. You are free to go now. I hope you remain careful henceforth.”

“Fuck you…you motherfucking son of a bitch…I am gonna hunt you down..I am gonna kill you cunt…”

“By all means, do whatever you please.”

“And I am gonna fuck more girls…”

I exhaled.

“And…and…as soon as I get alright…I am gonna shove my cock deep in Arpana’s ass…”

I stood up. Reaching deep in my overcoat, I took out an IPod Nano, locking upon ‘Ride of the Valkyrie’ by Richard Wagner and putting it on play, while plugging in the noise reduction earphones.

In the corner of the room I spotted the electric saw, the sheen of its blade glinting alluringly. I picked it up and went to the torture room.

Dixit saw me approaching with apprehension rising to its zenith. The music played on as I brought the machine to roaring life. The decibel shattering noise also marked the breaking of a regulation of my own. Hypocrisy was sweet.

“Fuck you! Nooooooooooooooo!! Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!”

The brass and the woodwinds and everything rose to a climactic crescendo as I severed a leg, the crimson soaking up on my coat. The other leg was cut in a similar fashion, as unhindered as the knife going through butter. I plunged straight into his stomach next, flinging the organs and the veins and capillaries everywhere.  The entire time his stupid face looked at me in a big wide ‘O’. By the time he closed it, I had etched a big, wide, crude X on his chest.

I let the saw drop to the floor.

“Why the hell are you glaring at my boobs?”


And then I plunged out of the day time reverie I had sunk in. Arpana’s face swam into view.

“I…uh…I…never mind…”

“Is something the matter?”

“No. Nothing. What did you say right now about Dixit?”

“I never said anything about Dixit. Have you even been listening to me?”

“What did you say just now?”

“I said Rohit is now in DEEP SHIT.HE’S BACK.”

“Who is?”

“The professor in charge of his project. He hasn’t done anything. He is gonna get screwed.”

“Ohh..ok…aahh….ok…yeah . He is in the deepest of shits. Of course.”

I gulped the water hurriedly. The time had come to leave. I went to see her off at her hostel.

She looked deep in to my eyes.

“You do know I love you right?”

“Of course Dear. I love you too.”

“The thing with Dixit is over.”

“I know.”

“I will always be there for you.” She leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. Distant.

I waved at her from afar. As I turned around, I was grateful for just one thing.

At least I wasn’t studying to be a maniacal motherfucking Mechanical Engineer.


7 thoughts on “Gore se Soch Lo!

  1. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…imba funny man. Esp the use of the name ‘dixit’. Though your writing style seems to be slightly inconsistent and non-uniform, if you intend to showcase the conflicting n00b and cold blooded logician personas, then it fits in.

  2. After reading this story I think we are all glad you are not studying to be a maniacal mechanical engineer.
    Although I shudder to think what you’d do with your knowledge of chemicals.

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