The Ritual

 

As I sit here with the fire of revenge burning inside me there is nothing left for me to do but relive how I ended up in such a state.

You came to where I was sleeping and violently ripped me from my family. Carting me to your home you laid me on the table where I had to watch you prepare for the coming ritual. You spent hours picking out the right knives and sharpening them to perfection. Much time too was spent deciding on the ritualistic pattern you would soon be gouging into my defenseless flesh.

I could do nothing but watch in numb horror as you approached me brandishing one of the knives, the light glinting of the sharp edge. Down you plunged it deep into my flesh, hacking away at me. Parts of me that you deemed no longer necessary were just discarded, tossed into a pail by the table. Have you any idea what it’s like to see pieces of yourself thrown away like so much garbage? I thought it couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong.

You got a gleam in your eye as you picked up the piece of paper with the ritualistic pattern on it. Turning to your selection of knives you choose a particularly small one with a thin blade and began your work. You cut. You sliced. You nicked. You scratched. Thirty agonizing minutes later you stepped back with a smile on your face. You were finally done. It was over. Or so I thought.

You took some time to clean your tools of torture and then you carried me to a spot in your home where, to my surprise, you put me on display for everyone to see. Yes, even the children! What kind of sick mind shows the children what you have done to me? But I underestimated your hold on their small minds for when they saw me they too began to smile. I had to endure this humiliation throughout the day and into the evening.

As night fell I thought my torture would end with the darkness but then you approached me with a flame!

So here I sit, the fire of revenge burning inside me, a poor abused pumpkin on Halloween night.

End

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