OOM: Hell is oneself, Hell is alone
What's one soul among thousands?
There's blood everywhere, hacked-off limbs writhing, guts and pus and vomit spewing forth--the floors are slippery with the mess and the foul, heavy, humid, rotting stench is everywhere, hanging thick in the air.
The ceilings are small and claustrophobic, lit by an eerie half-light, and there's noises everywhere--cracking bones, flesh being torn apart, heavy panting breathing. Shadows stagger in and out, creeping and limping, hobbling, freakish in their contortions.
There are a thousand, thousand souls here. Ghostly shapes are tethered and bound down, their eyes rolling up in their heads and their tongues lolling out as blood pours from their drooling mouths and their limbs convulse, shuddering. Whips crack across the darkness, knives glimmer a bright pale silver, wheels turn and turn and turn.
So much suffering. She turns her head, tries ineffectually to wipe at her eyes with limp hands. No--they broke all her fingers ages and ages ago.
Someone approaches. She struggles to drag herself upright, her legs trailing uselessly in the dirt behind her. The right leg dangles at a crazy angle as she sits up, heaving for breath, leaning heavily to one side.
Are you crying now?
"You took my eyes," she rasps, turning up her face. Blood trickles down her face from empty sockets, streaming over her cheeks.
We will take everything.
"No. Not my mind," she says almost inaudibly through white lips, straightening up with a massive effort until her back is a perfect curve, "you can't take my mind, you can't do that--"
Ah, but that is the last and best victory of all.
And they close in on her as she crumples, and there's nothing but darkness, and she screams: but what's one scream among millions? What's one soul among thousands?
[ooc: Rated NC-17 for graphic depictions of violence and gore--read at your own risk.]