“Yes,” the wall seemed to say, staring straight at him with dull, white eyes, tears spilling at its sides. He sighed and turned away, looking at the shivering mass in front of him. She writhed, her eyes pouring out rivers of horror, her hands tugging desperately at the red scarf her husband had gifted her, trying to wriggle her hands out. Sweat poured from her, making her hair stick to her face like wet, slimy worms.
“Please, I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. No, I swear,” she cried, yelping the words out like a hurt puppy. “Leave me alone, I won’t tell anyone. Just please... please leave me. Please. Let me go, let me go!”
She screamed, desperately trying to move, to free herself. A pool dripped from between her legs, eroding the air with its putrid, yellow odour; flowing, a murky stream of fear.
“Now, don’t lie to me. He’s your husband. I’m sure he tells you all his dirty little secrets,” he slowly whispered to her. “So tell me. Where is he? Tell me, and I’ll let you go. Simple as that.”
The clock spoke, ‘tick, tick, tick, tick, tick’ flowing in rhythm with the dripping of her pee as it formed a filthy, yellow pool beneath the chair. He looked at her through those slits around his eyes, tracing her up from her naked legs dipped in golden, stunningly high shoes, travelling up to her short black dress designed to attract young men. Her hair flew wildly about her head, struggling to be freed like its master, a few strands sticking to her wet, agonised face.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” snot flowed over her face, and she moaned.
“Well, I don’t need you then,” he whispered, reaching for his pocket. He slowly pulled out a bold, silver object from his pocket. It was plain, but for a small inscription in a foreign language, written with strange symbols, carved into the smoothness of the silver. His hands were steady as he slowly pulled out the thin, shiny strip of death. Sharp, loud frenzy pierced through the room, her screams cutting through the air at the sight of that sharp piece of metal. His arms moved swiftly, making precise cuts with the carelessness of one who is skilled in the art. Rivers of scarlet flowed from her limp body, following his path as he walked out of the room.
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