Hey You

by maddrunkgenius

Smack smack smack. ….

It’s a wet sound, a sick sound, but it comes regular as clockwork mechanical and the minutes tick by faster you could keep up with them if you tried. But you dont. No reason to. Just enjoy the moment for what it is and get lost listening to the symphony stereophonic, the most beautiful, familiar serenade your ears have ever heard.

Smack smack smack.

Blood splatters and stains, victim, floor, and abusers. There’s broken skin, shiny bruises, and cracked bones– everything you might expect and more. It’s messy business, but that’s the way it should be. Messy and personal, efficiency be damned. The groans come less often, especially now, and there’s nothing regular to them, just random exclamations of protest, cursing, but more often submission. Getting close now.

Smack smack smack.

A lovely onomatopoeia if ever one there was, so long as you’re on the right side of it and not left alone to suffer. It’s good work if you can get it. Hard work, too, but the best work usually is. This bastard didn’t pay to be protected, but now he wishes he did. Says so, in fact. He’ll pay twice as much now, ten times as much, whatever you want, just God, please God stop hitting him. Too late for that now, you tell him, maybe yesterday that would have been enough, but too late now.

You give him a kick to the ribs, forcing out another groan, deeper than usual. That one must have been broken already. He vomits, and you know you guessed right. The floor is a mess, a reflection of its owner, or it would be if it wasnt so dark inside. The morning lights havent come on yet so the pool of blood under him is just wet and messy. That’s enough. Any more and hell be dead. He’s dying now, and thats good enough.