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Not that it ever stopped me from indulging in my dark vices.”
Octavius
Chicago, Illinois
Octavius
Heavy rock music blasts in my ear, the headphones vibrating on my head and muting any other sounds around me as I stroll to the metal door leading to my basement, my boots thumping on the perfectly polished marble glistening under the harsh light.
Ah, light.
Until you go without it you never truly know what a privilege it is to have it brighten up the space around you.
You spend countless hours wishing for someone to come and save you from your unfortunate fate where the whole world stays deaf to your pleas.
Darkness, after all, needs its prisoners, and what better prisoner than a hopeless creature living in misery and agony subjected to the highest of tortures every single day?
A creature that can be transformed into someone hideous with the right amount of pain and discipline.
Although sometimes it’s useless.
Vices and monsters exists in the daylight too. They just learn to hide themselves better, and if I wasn’t one of them, I’d find it tragic.
Instead, I thrive in the knowledge.
I press the passcode in the keypad, a smile curving my lips when it opens, and I enter, shutting the door behind me with a kick. I close my eyes, breathing in the chlorine-filled air.
A scent that sends adrenaline rushing through my veins, and anticipation promises me the only pleasure that can temporarily numb anything else and silence the voices screaming in my head.
Voices remind me of the past from where there is no reprieve, no escape, just an endless pit awaiting me.
Grabbing one of the several lanterns hanging on the wall, I flick it on and go down the brick stairs, tapping my headphone to turn off the music. A chuckle escapes me when I hear faint whimpers in the distance, echoing through the space and enhancing my senses.
When I’m inside my dungeon, the past doesn’t exist.
The whimpers become louder the closer I come to my torture room, and finally, I step inside, clapping once, and the almost blinding light brightens everything around me at once.
My dark soul soars at the view of my dungeon, the space designed for chaos and pain that knows no bounds because whoever ends up here has no mercy or salvation in sight.
Only endless agony awaits them, even in the afterlife.
Although it reminds everyone of a sterile operating room because I first enter a small room where I grab my scrubs and quickly put them on along with the mask. Then I pick up the soap and wash my hands, shaking the water off and turning off the faucet.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I see my hollow eyes and the angry scar peeking from the mask.
Nothing has the power to cover it up from the world, nor do I wish to.
People tend to stay away from the scarred beasts because they dread our wrath. If anything is better than the fear permanently surrounding you, it’s the smell of temptation as it speaks about your absolute power and domination.
When people fear you, they don’t dare to hurt you, and for those of us who used to live at the mercy of others…that’s an aphrodisiac in itself.
A louder whimper snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look through the glass door at the black trash bag on the floor moving violently. I find the idea of anyone hoping to get out of it alive hilarious.
Human stupidity truly has no limits.
Or hopefulness. It depends on how one prefers to look at it.
The doors to my dungeon open when I press the button on the wall, the smell of antiseptics twitching my nose while the spotless tile floor squeaks under my leather shoes, alerting my victim to having company. He freezes, the bag rising and falling from his breathing. Various machines buzz around me, surrounded with surgical tables holding all the necessary equipment.
