#Then I try finding the source myself on an already extremely low appetite

[frostbite-the-bat]

... My parents really for real are leaving the uncleaned, rotten potato juice and other misc unknown juice infested, LITERALLY FRUIT FLY LARVAE INFESTED, cupboards, in the bathroom,

For like the 4th day starting today if I am counting right

Sure just don't let me shower sure just let me get paranoid over the larvae sure make me not trust the bathtub for like a week sure let the place get more infested sure let it stink up the whole place SURE LEAVE THE FUCKING BATHROOM UNUSABLE

[scripttorture]

Hello! Is it realistic for a professinal assassin/torturer in a cultist organization to beat up/torture their lover out of anger and feeling of betrayal when the lover wants to leave them and the organization? What are some ways to torture someone without leaving any marks, other than maybe bruises or small scars that would heal up in few days? Does stationary position torture leave marks? Thank you for your help!

Also in continuation to that cultorganization, lover being tortured by the lover they want to leave etc, I'm notsure did I ask about the long term effects, but if I didn't, what would theybe? On victim especially, since her torturer is a person she did love and whomshe did trust in the past? But also for the torturer, since she at least THINKSshe "loved" the person she's torturing.

Lots of questions! OK I think some of those last questions about how thevictim would deal with this in the long term and how she’d feel towards thetorturer are better addressed to ScriptTraumaSurvivor, whoseblog is here. She’s much better placed than I am to talk about that side ofthings. Because what you’re essentially talking about here is spousal abuse.

 I also just want to be clear that while torturers can be part of organisations torturersthemselves aren’t organised and seem to have a toxic effect in organisationsthey’re part of. A strong presence of torturers within your cultistorganisation will probably cause tension and, in the long term, often leads tothe organisation fracturing or to bloodshed within the organisation. (Justsomething to keep in mind for your story.)

 Your scenario does seem realistic. I think you’d probably find one ofthe case studies in F Fanon’s ‘TheWretched of the Earth’ relevant. And since it’s short I’ll type out therelevant part for you. This is a psychiatric patient during the Franco-Algerianwar.

 ‘Case 5. A European policeinspector who tortured his wife and children.

R- thirty years old. Came of hisown accord to consult us. He was a police inspector and stated that for severalweeks ‘things weren’t working out’. Married, had three children. He smoked alot: five packets of cigarettes a day. He had lost his appetite and his sleepwas frequently disturbed by nightmares. These nightmares had no specialdistinguishing features. What bothered him most were what he called ‘fits ofmadness’. In the first place, he disliked being contradicted.

“Can you give me an explanationfor this, doctor: as soon as someone goes against me I want to hit him. Evenoutside my job, I feel I want to settle the fellows who get in my way, even fornothing at all. Look here, for example, suppose I go to the kiosk to buypapers. There’s a lot of people. Of course you have to wait. I hold out my hand(the chap who keeps the kiosk is a pal of mine) to take my papers. Someone inthe queue gives me a challenging look and says ‘Wait your turn.’ Well, I feel Iwant to beat him up and I say to myself, ‘If I had you for a few hours my finefellow you wouldn’t look so clever afterwards.’”

The patient dislikes noise. Athome he wants to hit everybody all the time. In fact he does hit his children,even the baby of twenty months, with unaccustomed savagery.

But what really frightened himwas one evening when his wife had criticized him particularly for hitting hischildren too much. (She had even said to him ‘My word anyone would think youwere going mad’) He threw himself upon her, beat her and tied her to a chair,saying to himself ‘I’ll teach her once and for all that I’m master in thishouse.’

Fortunately his children beganroaring and crying. He then realized the full gravity of his behaviour, untiedhis wife, and the next day decided to consult a doctor, a ‘nerve specialist’’

 That’s a real life case of a torturer abusing his spouse, using methodshe would have used at work. Fanon was very clear that the problem wasultimately rooted in R- being a torturer and since he refused to quit his casedid not improve and he eventually left therapy. It’s not clear what happened tohim or his family.

 The situation you described seems like a classic escalation of domesticviolence to me. I’d advise asking ScriptTraumaSurvivor more about howescalation happens.

 Fanon’s case is the onlyrelevant case I’m aware of, so it’s not a significant sample size. But at themoment it’s the best we have.

 There are a lot of torturetechniques that don’t leave marks, so your torturer would probably just use thetechniques they would have at work. Which ones would depend on the time periodand where they’re from. I’ll suggest a range and you can pick from thosedepending on what fits.

 Clean beating- repeated hitting with an openhand or a ‘soft’ rounded object. The Chicago phone book was a favourite of USpolice. The Romans used silk whips. This one has a pretty long history and hasbeen used worldwide so it’s a safe bet for any time and setting.

 Electricity- if this is a modern setting inAmerica then Tasers and stun guns especially are famous for leaving no marksand being used as torture devices. If it’s earlier (up to the 1920s) then fieldmagnetos (small portable generators) were used. ‘The Question’ by Henri Alleghas a good description from the victim’s perspective. Magnetos were used inFrance and throughout the French empire. A few places didn’t regularly useelectricity- Britain is one of them.

 Choking with water- The variant you’re most likelyto be aware of is waterboarding. This forms part of both modern American andFrench national ‘styles’ of torture and has a pretty long history. I think thefirst recorded use that’s recognisably waterboarding is Dutch and from the1600s. The victim is tied with their legs above their head. A wet cloth is putover their face and water is poured over it. This prevents the victim frombreathing and they start to drown. The torturer removes the cloth regularly tokeep them alive before repeating the process.

 In thiscase I’m not going to recommend using pumping, it wouldn’t leave marks but it’svery very messy.

 Pepper is something that was particularly used againstwomen. Spices like, chillis, black pepper, ginger, that are mildly irritatingare put into the victim’s mucous membranes: areas like the nose, eyes, genitalsand anus. This has a long history in the Indian subcontinent and has been usedin western Africa (I’m not sure how long it’s been used in western Africathough). Normally the spices are chopped up rolled into a ball and shoved intoan orifice.

 Falaka- This has been used in the Middle East for a veryvery long time. It’s also used throughout Asia, as far east as Thailand. It’sbeating the soles of the feet and it can be done without leaving marks. A hosepipe (or similar) filled with sand is the favoured implement when the torturerdoesn’t want to leave marks. It also has a history of being used specificallyagainst women.

 I haven’tmentioned stress positions yet (stationary positional tortures if you prefer,but I try to keep the terms on the blog consistent, so I’ll use ‘stresspositions’) and yes they very muchwould fit your scenario and not leave any lasting marks.

 There area couple of ways to approach them, the easiest for your torturer in this casewould be to use some form of restraints or objects (because otherwise peopleare kept in stress positions by a watching torturer who beats them when theymove).

 Assumingthat these attacks don’t actually happen in the torturer’s usual place of workthe best bet is probably to use a chair and rope. I think in this case I’d gofor a variant on Israeli stress positions by tying the victim to a child-sizedchair. This would force her into an uncomfortable crouch and even if the ropesare quite loose she wouldn’t be able to wringle enough to relieve the tensionin her muscles.

 If they are in the torturer’s place of work thena more widely used stress position would be ‘standing cuffs’, tying thevictim’s hands high enough above her head that she’d need to stand on her toes.

 Fluidstarts to pool in the victim’s extremities after about 24 hours in a stressposition and most places would not keep someone in a stress position for longerthan 48 hours. (After that the risk of death rises.)

 I’m goingto give you a link to my Masterposton the common effects of torture which lists the most common symptomsvictim’s experience. I still think you should go to ScriptTraumaSurvivor forfurther information on what the victim will be going through, but it shouldgive you a good idea where to start.

 Andfinally the torturer.

 Theinformation we have at the moment indicates that torture is damaging totorturers. They manifest a lot of the same symptoms as the victims, thoughusually to a lesser degree. Addiction and self harm particularly seem to bevery common.

 Giventhat and the scenario you’re describing I think it would fit if your torturerhad pretty low self esteem. She may feel abandoned and like the person sheloved betrayed her or tricked her. Both of those could feed in to lower selfesteem. Perhaps due to her position she’s ‘supposed to protect the cult’, andshe’s ‘failed’ to do this if a traitor like her ex managed to get this close.

 She’llalso have lost a source of social support, the kind people with mental healthproblems usually rely on to keep going day-to-day. That would make the symptomsshe’d already be suffering as a torturer worse.If you decide to give her a substance abuse problem she’d probably hit thebottle hard. If she has mood swings and problems with anger (like R- in Fanoncase study), she might fly off the handle at people at work or even hit someoneelse within the organisation.

 I feellike I’ve skimmed over an awful lot of stuff here. I think I’ve probablyreached the point where I need to leave this with you. If you need any moreinformation on any of the points I’ve covered please don’t hesitate to ask. :)

Disclaimer

[sweetismindfulness-blog]

Mindful Eating.

Yesterday I tried mindful eating for the first time. Well...I mean actually tried and succeeded. Usually I do things really slowly, like walking, reading, putting things together, so I find it kind of strange that I eat really fast and not mindfully. This is something I've struggled with for years due to my eating disorder. I restricted too much in the past that led to binge eating that led to only eating healthy food in extremely large doses. This resulted in a terrible digestive disorder and eating when I wasn't hungry and boredom. It actually sucks so much that I had to experience all of that, but in all honesty I really appreciate that experience because if it wasn't for those experiences I would not be where I am today.

Isn't it funny to think that way, it makes everything so clear and positive. Honestly, it all is positivity. Sometimes I think I just get lucky, but all in all it's because I look at the positive side of things and don't let these small negative things get in the way of my thinking.

Sometimes I think that only good things happen to me, but this isn't true at all. I suffered with some much anxiety, depression, low self-confidence in the past, but I guess I kind of just forgot it all.

I struggled so much to figure out who I was, I feel that I was this lost girl in this world not knowing what I truly valued and wanted in life.

I remember when I was in High School, I would cry myself to sleep everynight, now not exactly knowing why. I think it was because I didn't know who I really was and hated every bit of myself.

I'd often hate myself and wish I was someone else...anyone else really. wish I was taller, prettier, smarter, or even my sister. Why did everyone like her..I always wondered. Deep down I envied her so much and probably hated her to an extent. It pains me to say this because I know she didn't do any of this on purpose. I was filled with so much hate and jealousy it hurts me to admit it right now.

But, all in all it was through these experiences that I am where I am today. I have to say it took so long, so fucking long to realize who I am. That I am me. No one else is me. Why do I have to compare myself to others. We all have our own individual experiences who make us who we are. We are special in our own unique ways. No one can go through the same things we did, no one can look like us, think like us, no one can be us. So why do we envy others. This is just such a waste of energy.

We sometimes think if our life is a certain way, we would be happier. I've heard this so many times, oh so many times, but it isn't until recently--through this "enlightend" experience that I've really understood what it means. We can't think that way because if we do we are constantly chasing after the future after something that is not reachable. We need to appreciate what we have now, how we feel in the present. If we cannot realize that we can never truly reach this enlightened state.

I struggled so much with my identity in the past, I still do occassionaly, I admit I am constantly learning and changing my opinions. I accept that I don't know everything and won't know everything in my lifetime, but I am willing to learn. Now I don't just accept and agree with what everyone tells me. I have my own opinions, my own thoughts, my own values. I will listen to what others have to say, but in the end I make my own decisions for myself. I know what I want and won't let others opinions sway me so easily.

Whoops just notice the title to this post was supposed to be about mindful eating. I did sway a bit away from that topic, but I think that eating mindfully relates back to how we live our life. Although mindful eating relates to "eating" and food, being mindful of how we eat our food relates to our everyday decisions. Do we really take the time to stop and think what we are doing? Are we being concious of our actions? Do we really take the time and enjoy and acknowledge the world around us? Or are we just rushing and doing things uncounsiouly on autopilot. Because if we are, we are acting the same way we are eating. When we eat in front of a TV or computer or even when we are talking. We are not actually "eating" we are just stuffing our faces. If you really want to enjoy your food and eat to fill yourself and your hunger then you need to stop with all of these distractions and really only look at the food in front of you. Eat your food slowly and actually taste, smell, feel, absorb the food. Also it is important to ask yourself WHY you are eating. Don't just eat because you are bored, stressed, want to feel happier. Eat because you are actually hungry. You will know when you are hungry, it might take sometime because we are all so conditioned to eat at certain times of the day(breakfast, lunch, dinner) and not when we actually are hungry. This leads to overeating and eating when we don't really need food in our stomachs.

I'm an advocate for eating healthy with a small dosage of eating what you want. I want you to realize that you can eat what you want, but just be aware of what you are eating. Don't eat something because you know that there are less calories in that version. Like for instance soymilk, I always buy the lower calorie soymilk even though it tastes like shit. It dosen't fufill my desire for something sweet and creamy because it's practically water. I need to realize that if I buy good tasting food, and eat it mindfully we will enjoy the food and be more fufilled. I have honestly lost such an appetite for food because I eat it so carelessly and non-mindfully. Just gulping, swallowing down everything that's on my plate.

It feels terrible when I overeat by the way. This happened so occasionallly that I'd sit there with pain in my stomach, so much pain and just hate myself for having overate. I quickly think of anything I can do to make this go away. Of course...try and throw up but god I can never get msyelf to do this. I tried so hard so many times. So of course I exercise intensly to try and makeup for all the food I just ate. This just leads to a repetitive cycle of overeating, then over exercise. A terrible process and terrible for the brain. I need to realize that me eating is just trying to fufill something deeper, something empty inside of me. I noticed that I eat so much when I come home because I try and fill myself with happiness, the feeling of happiness I get when I binge eat, that mindless happiness, that isn't true happiness by the way. It's only temporary and self destructing happiness.

I guess the first step is acknowledging this. I already have acknoklwedge this and am now aware. I will no longer let this mindless act of eating control me. I'm ready to take my body and mind back. I'm in control god dammit. Honestly fuck all the stigma's and diets out there that encourage counting calories.

The thing I realized that we should be doing is not these stupid shit diets, counting calories, eating healthy. Okay we should try and pick the healthier options most times, but only if we want to. Like seriously fuck salads. I fucking hate them and they taste like shit.

We should be focusing on eating when we are really hungry and stopping when we aren't. Why are we forcing our kids to finish all the food on our plates when they say they are no longer hungry. Like okay maybe pull the whole "kids in africa are starving, they would kill to be you right now" but what the actual fuck does this even mean. So what if they're starving....like how does overeating on our part help them in anyway. This just leads us to develop a habit of overeating and eating when we aren't hungry which leads to obesity...the obesity that is taking over our country and other countries. It is just so sad to me how food has led to be the main source of discussion in almost every conversation. It honestly disgusts me to the point where I become so frustrated. It's like we let this idea of happiness and fulfillment come from food. Where we should be focusing our energy elsewhere, we should be focusing it on hobbies, interests, passions, things that actually matter. Why the fuck does food need to be our source of happiness, conversation piece. I hate it when all people can suggest to do when meeting up is food. Like what the fuck. I don't want to waste money eating out when I could make something myself that is 10x healthier and taste better. Honestly, I've never been someone to appreciate food that much because I've been too focused on calorie counting. But recently I realized that's not a healthy way to live either. We should instead be eating things we love regardless of the calorie content, but whether we REALLy want to eat it. Eat it slowly and in moderation. Eat only when you're hungry, with no distractions, and mindfully. Eat this way and you will better not only your eating habits, but better your life as well.

Peace

[heather1815]

My little test subject: chapter 7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, and Chapter 6

Angsty Tomtord fic with slight Paultryk on the side.

WARNING! This fic contains: Foul language, torture scenes, blood, use of medical tools, drug use, suicidal tendencies, self-neglect, violence, self-harm, and a little bit of stockholm syndrome and force feeding. Viewer discretion is advised.

"Are you out of your mind?!"

Tord was leaned back in his recliner chair, feet propped up over his desk and gaze fixed on the ceiling fan of his office. His lips were pursed with both arms crossed behind his head in boredom as he suffered through one of Patrick's lectures. This time, the Polish soldier was pacing around the room and ranting on and on about his treatment in regards to Tom, all the while Paul watched the argument in the far corner of the room; fiddling with his fingers, gaze cast downwards and completely silent as if he was afraid to speak up. This might take a while.

"I can't believe you've done this! After I pulled you out of the room to talk privately, specifically told you about my concerns regarding his weight loss and to take it easier on him; you just went ahead and electrocuted him!" Patrick exclaims angrily, still pacing from one side of the room to the other.

Tord shrugged. "Oh stop exaggerating, Pat!" He sighed exasperatedly. "It was just a controlled shock; the voltage isn't even that high. He was clearly struggling against the two of you so I thought it would've been much easier if he were unconscious. No need to get your panties in a twist. Geez!"

"I don't care what you thought, because you clearly didn't!" Patrick snapped. "Tom is incredibly underweight for someone his size and age, this leaves him very frail and extremely weak. If we are not careful, we could accidentally kill him without even going through any of the procedures." He warned.

Tord blinked at him deadpanned, sitting straight in his chair. "Alright Pat, you got a point. I will go easier on him from now on." He sighed. "But if he steps out of line, I will discipline him if necessary." He warned, turning his chair to look at the mirror on his left, immediately running his robotic hand through his hair and fixing his fringe.

"For our sake Tord, I do hope so. Tom might be our last shot of success in perfecting the serum. If we lose him, the project you worked so hard on will be no more." Patrick states angrily. "I recommend we give him a special diet before the procedures, enough for him to gain back the lost weight and build up his strength to resist blood loss." He advised.

"Very well, you go on and do that. For now, we'll leave the serious experiments for when Tom has a full recovery." Tord says, still looking at his reflexion.

"I'm afraid my hands are full on this matter, sir." The soldier grumbles, causing Tord to glance at him through the reflection.

"Hmm?"

"With all due respect sir, you already put me in charge of taking care of his mental health. I am no psychologist, so I have to read everything and anything on the matter to accomplish this." He elaborated. "You, on the other hand, put yourself in charge of his overall health. If anyone should plan his diet it should be you."

Tord glared at him clenching his fists but sighed in defeat as he realized the soldier's words did have truth in them. "Fine, I will take care of his diet. You can go on with your lessons, just don't forget to check the test results for his blood and spinal tap." He murmured. "Paul, you and I will take test subject #1826 for some light physical activity tomorrow, so I suggest you come up with something for then."

"Yes, sir!" Paul saluted.

"Dismissed." Tord ordered, his back still turned to them but watched them leave his office through the mirror.

Once they left and Tord was finally alone, he dropped the authority posture and allowed himself to relax. What a busy day. He thought tiredly, walking to his chair and leaning back as far as it would go, stretching his limbs.

He opened his computer with a frown, typing in the password and gaining access to all of the base's personal files and reports. But he was not interested in any of that at the moment. He was currently more preoccupied in finding ways of recovering Tom back to his proper health.

I don't understand. How could he have gotten to this condition? He's barely just skin and bones, there is literally nothing in him. Tord thought worriedly, researching different sources and pages for the absolute best. Did he do this to himself? If so, why? I need to keep a close eye on his condition…

Tord's thoughts drifted into various directions and possibilities. For now, he will give Tom the benefit of the doubt that he just has a terrible sense of self-care, and hopefully, nothing deeper was going. But then again, he's dealing with Tom. There is also a catch.

He is hiding something, and if Tom won't admit it, then I will figure him out myself. He vowed silently.

(Later…)

Blurry images were flying through his mind, but they were so fuzzy he could barely make them out. Blood rushed through his ears, drowning out the noise; his heart hammering in his chest. Stop.

He could faintly see a few places that looked familiar to the depths of his mind. A park, an alleyway, the bar… a yellow house. Stop it.

Next thing he hears are screams; shrills of panic and horror all around him. He tries to understand what was going on but all he sees as his vision clears are people running away from something. He looks behind him but there was nothing there. He realizes then that these people were running away from him. Stop it!

He tries to plead for the people to stop, try and make them understand, but they just kept staring at him in horror. He clutched his head in distress. P-please no!

He hissed in pain when he felt something sharp poke his head. He was confused by this and slowly drew his hands down, only to discover that in place of his hands, he had sharp blood-stained claws instead. NO!

He thrashed and turned violently as he saw people get mutilated left and right. His claws seemed to have a mind of their own as they slashed through them mercilessly. I don't want this!

Blood and guts spilled everywhere. He felt immense pain coming from his jaws as his gums expanded and sharp teeth started to grow out of his normal ones. Something heavy swished behind him. A tail. His tail. He pounced on a frightened woman and tore her face off with his jaws, mauling her limb to limb. Make it stop!

But he couldn't stop it. He would never stop until the pain in his stomach finally ceased and his hunger for flesh is satisfied. His appetite has been neglected for far too long. A loud roar escaped his lips once his eye surveyed the bloodstained fields; no signs of life. Until he heard a gasp from behind him. No! No! No!

He turned around, slowly and rather clumsily due to his large size. Standing behind him with expressions of shock and horror were two familiar figures of a ginger and a brunet in hoodies. Something clicked in his mind at the recognition, but his stomach growled louder at the sight of them. Not them!

He crouched low on the ground, a growl rumbling through him as his eye narrowed at them. His huge claws raked the ground in anticipation. His mouth watered.

PREY.

NO! DON'T-!

KILL.

He pounced on them, claws raised and ready for mutilating as the two forms cowered away in fear. Next thing he knows; blood is soaking his form. His friend's blood.

"NO!" Tom shot up straight, sitting up in alarm. His eyes were wide and he started to pant for breath, trying to calm down from the adrenaline as he trembled in fright. He looked around frantic but was relieved to find everything he had experienced, for the most part, was merely a dream.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief, taking deep breaths to calm his rapid heartbeat. He laid back down staring at the ceiling. It was just a dream. Edd and Matt are fine. You did not hurt them, they are safe and sound back at home. The monster will never hurt them now.

As he gained back his bearings, Tom noticed the somewhat soft surface he was laying on top of. On closer observation he realized he was indeed lying on a bed. He looked around the place he was in. The room was plain gray with no windows or anything else really. Just the bed.

Last (night's?) events slowly but surely reappeared into his memory and he remembered how Tord played a stupid game with him before knocking him out via electric shocks. Tom huffed in annoyance. Dam commie. Didn't even have the guts to knock me out himself, he had to do it from a safe distance.

Tom noticed two doors, one positioned to his left; large and made out of steel, and the other in front of him at the far end of the bed. One must lead outside while the other was possibly a bathroom. Again, possibly… This is Tord he is dealing with after all.

Tom sat up again, his legs dangling to the side of the bed. He tried to get up when he felt a pull towards his wrist and a slight pain followed. Tom looked down and saw a thin, transparent line coming out of his sleeve. He pulled it up, the line going inside his veins. Tom followed the line, his eyes directing towards the rather large IV bag on a pole, connected to the lines.

"An IV?" Tom stared down at his wrist in confusion. They must've put that in while I was unconscious… right on my injured wrist too.

Tom didn't have much time to pull it off before the door to his cell slid open. Tom jumped in surprise, letting out a little yelp until he realized who was on the other side. The familiar silhouette of pointy hair was enough to tell who it was before Tord strolled into the room, a wide grin on his face and carrying a tray of, supposedly food with him.

"Good morning!" Tord greeted in a sing-song voice. Tom stared at him deadpanned, not saying anything just raising one eyebrow questioningly. "Hope you had a good night's rest, cause' today we have a lot to do."

Tom glared. Tord is never cheerful unless there is pain involved. Great. The Brit remained silent, crossing his arms and glaring at the other man. Tord's smile wavered at his behaviour.

"Ah, the silent treatment I see. Don't tell me you are still upset for me electrocuting you yesterday?" Tord says, earning a harder glare from Tom causing him to chuckle at their situation. "Really? Come on old pal, as if you were expecting anything different from me at this point!" Tord laughed, but slowly diminished as Tom remained silent and fuming. "Oh. So you are serious about this." Tord blinked in realization that maybe making fun of his only hope to get the serum done, especially when he is in such a condition, wasn't the best idea.

Tord sighed, clearing his throat. "Fine. Maybe I exaggerated and I shouldn't have been so quick to electrocute you." He apologized while avoiding uttering the specific words to his supposedly arch-nemesis. Patrick's words echoed in his mind. "As long as you don't try anything funny, I won't do it again. I promise."

Knowing this is the closest he will ever get to an apology coming from Tord, Tom dropped his arms with his glare turning to the tray of food the Norwegian was still holding in his hands.

"Anyways, I brought you breakfast." Tord simply says handing him the tray. "And please try not to take out the IV without proper assistance. I had it put in to help restore you back to health and I would hate it if you were to be stubborn about it."

Tom took the tray from him, setting it down on his lap. The food given was as simple as it could be: Just a bowl of bread chunks, a small dish of butter with a plastic knife, and a glass of water. Talk about generic prison food. But the food itself didn't really matter. Even if he were presented with a cheeseburger or a large, juicy steak he still wouldn't eat it. He can't risk getting strong again.

"I'm not hungry." Tom muttered, looking away while ignoring the pain in his stomach grow at the sight of food.

Much to his surprise, Tord laughed in response, looking down at him with amusement. "Patrick warned me you would use the same excuse twice, didn't think you actually would though." He stated. "To my knowledge, you haven't consumed anything in the last 54 hours. No normal human being can go on so long without any nourishment."

Tom inwardly grimaced. Dam, he is on to me. He glared up at Tord. "I don't have eyes, my parents are inanimate objects, and I currently have a super-potent serum running through my veins. I am by no means normal." He growled.

Tord shrugged. "True. But you are still human despite all of that, and you need to eat sometime." He says, nudging the tray.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "So what happened to the quality meal I was promised when taking your stupid deal?" He challenged, remembering the night Tord had come to him to hear his answer and told him of the things he would expect to get if he accepted his proposition. "If this is what you have for a quality meal, then I really don't wanna know what you have for your average one." He held a chunk of bread between his fingers, holding it up to his eye he inspected it.

Tord frowned. "I'll have you known that this is some of the finest bread that we have." He stated, somewhat offended by Tom's comment, as he held a lot of pride for his army. "And concerning the conditions of our deal, a change was in order." At this Tom put the chunk of bread down, looking at Tord curiously. The norsk sighed. "Due to your alarming condition I had to research and plan your diet carefully. So from now on, instead of two quality meals a day, you'll get plenty of small snacks once every two hours: Bread, protein bars, soups. Small but nutritious, and easy to consume."

Tom narrowed his eyes as his blank stare met with Tord's own gray one. He may know about his malnourished state, but he barely scratched the surface of Tom's condition; he has no idea what he is dealing with, and Tom plans to keep it that way for as long as he can. So until Tord addresses the issue directly, he will just play along.

Once again, Tord nudged the tray of food closer to Tom. "Well, go on and eat up then. When you are done, I'll escort you to the gym where Paul will be waiting for us." He ordered.

Tom looked down at the food in disdain. His stomach was growling but he went for so long without eating anything that he kind of lost his appetite due to his self-control. The chunks of bread didn't look particularly appetizing either.

Tord frowned, sensing Tom's hesitance to eat and figured he wouldn't do it on his own initiative. He sighed. "You know, there are still lots of questions you haven't ask me yet." He said, gaining the Brit's attention. "Tell you what: You may ask me any questions you want; I promise to answer them all truthfully. But for each question you ask me you will eat one chunk of bread in return."

Tom rolled his empty eyes, groaning in annoyance. Leave it to Tord to solve all his problems with a deal or a game. He has been for approximately three days in this stupid base and already he couldn't stand Tord or his methods. He vaguely remembers the Norwegian's ominous words from their last game. The right question? He thought. I do want answers, and I don't know when I'll get another chance to talk with Patrick or Paul on my own; or if they will even answer me then. Tom looks down at the bowl of bread on his tray, slowly lifting his gaze back to Tord; standing in the middle of the room with his hands folded behind his back.

Tom didn't want to give in just yet, his stubborn side rising within him. "And what if I refuse?" He challenged, crossing his arms and folding his legs; careful not to let the tray fall from his lap.

Tord frowned at him. "If you don't eat, then I guess I will just have to make you." He spoke, icily calm. "And believe me Thomas, I have many ways to make you do whatever I want. I am just being nice and giving you the chance to choose to do it the easy way or the hard way." Tom wasn't fooled by his calm demeanour. Tord was practically radiating anger, he just kept it in check. Tom scowled but sighed in defeat, knowing better than to argue further at this point. "So what's it gonna be?"

Tom stared at the ground, adverting his gaze. "Fine. I'll take your offer." He muttered.

Tord smiled, regaining his posture. Good, he is learning. He thought, pleased with the result. Maybe one day he won't resist me anymore and just do as I say without protest. Hopefully.

"You may begin whenever you are ready." Tord declared, straightening his back and clasping his hands together.

Tom narrowed his eyes, remembering his previous questions and the information he learned in response. He scratched his chin and hummed.

"Alright, uhm, I assume we are currently in your army base or something…"

"One of many." Tord put in. "This one is actually my main base, and the largest of all of them. Do keep going."

Tom raised one eyebrow. Geez. How many bases does he have in total? And why so many? He thought of asking, but he shook his head. Focus. One question at a time! I can't eat too much so I have to think carefully about my questions.

"Well, if this is your main base, then how come I barely see anyone around here?" Tom asks. "I mean; I saw a few people wandering through the halls when Patrick first escorted me. But how come I only seem to interact with the three of you and no one else?"

Tord grinned, moving to lean on the wall next to him while crossing his arms. "The serum project is a highly confidential plan only accessible to higher ups and with my permission. It is a very delicate procedure that I would very much like to keep it hidden from any form of unwanted attention." He explained, an edge to his voice. "So, to prevent unqualified assistance or possible traitors to get close to my last shot in this project, I made it perfectly clear to my soldiers to stay away from the lower area, which is the entire floor you reside in and we perform our experiments. Any members of the red army found wandering about the halls of this floor without direct permission from me will be-"

"Killed?!"

"Punished." Tord finished, his grin turning into a sour frown. "I may be trigger happy, Tom, but I wouldn't kill my own soldiers for a little bit of rule breaking." He paused, contemplating his thoughts. "Well… Unless they annoy or piss me off, and break the rules far too often; in which case they lose their value and become easily dispensable. And this project is a very serious issue, so now I am not quite sure what I'll do if someone were to come down here and find out…"

Tom felt an involuntarily shiver run down his spine at the sound of that. He began to wonder what kind of punishment Tord delivers to those who break the rules. Knowing how sadistic the Norwegian man could be, Tom wouldn't be surprised if it involved medieval torture methods; or at the very least some finger chopping or back whipping. And how exactly would he dispose of the "dispensable" soldiers? Tord's favourite method of killing has always been guns, but again, he is a sadistic f#ck; he most likely wouldn't settle for just a simple shot in the head. Tom's gaze drifted down to Tord's synthetic hand, currently rubbing his chin in thought. Another shiver ran down his spine. Something told him that cold, metallic hand held a lot of deaths in its grasp. And he suspected it wasn't only by choking either.

"Regardless, you will only interact with Paul, Pat, and I throughout the whole experience and no one else." Tord declared, brushing off his previous thought.

Tom snapped out of his thoughts. "So your soldiers-"

"Ahem." Tom was abruptly interrupted by Tord's obnoxious throat clearing. The Norsk was looking down at him expectantly, but Tom just stared back in confusion. "Eat." He ordered, motioning to the tray.

Tom looked down, realizing what he was expected to do. He inwardly grimaced, not feeling up to eating anything at the moment, or ever for that fact. But if he didn't, Tord would force him to do it regardless, and he doesn't need the humiliation of having the commie force-feeding him against his will. It's just best to comply.

Tom surveyed the contents of the bowl, careful to pick the smallest chunk possible. He raised it to his eye level to inspect it. The bread is brown and white with grains in it, soft to the touch and yet held a certain hardiness to it near the border. Gingerly, he stuck his tongue out to give the bread an experimental taste. Tom clicked his tongue. Tastes like bread alright.

Tord watched him in amusement and slight annoyance, doing his best to keep from giggling out loud. He debated whether he should just tell him that the bread held no drugs or poison in it, but held back. Tord decided he found Tom quite adorable when he was suspicious and wary of things.

Tom stared down at the piece of bread for a moment longer before popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and rather hesitantly as he rolled the bread around his mouth with his tongue. It crunched beneath his teeth, the grains making themselves apparent. The taste was rather bland. But to Tom, who hadn't eaten anything for so long he barely remembers the last time he did, the bread tasted divine in his mouth.

Still, he did not let it show he enjoyed. "Not bad." He mumbled while still chewing.

When the chunk was gone from his mouth and descended down his throat, Tom still felt the bread taste on his tongue. He held the urge to lick his lips. His eyes unintentionally fixed back on the bowl, and his hand was ready to take another chunk but he quickly reframed from doing so. His hand twitched and he clenched into a fist in response. Stay under control. He reminded himself.

Although subtle, Tord took notice of the hand twitch. Looking at Tom's facial expression he could detect a hint of hesitation, as if he was struggling with himself. Tord raised an eyebrow in interest. Hm, seems as if he's having some trouble in containing himself. Not sure if this is his stubborn side refusing to actually enjoy something I am giving him, or something else entirely… He contemplated, rubbing his chin. I'll order Pat to have a session with him tomorrow; today if possible, and see what he can figure out.

Tom managed to repress down the urge to eat more, for now, until he could ask more questions. "So how did you get your army?" He blurts out. "Did you actually get followers or did you blackmail them into joining you?"

Tord just shot him a sly grin. "I earned my soldier's respect fair and square. They approved of my way of thinking and agreed to join the cause. My cause." He declared with pride, placing the palm of his robotic hand over his heart. "Of course, I started only with a handful of soldiers; Paul included. But overtime we recruited more members to join us, and that's when Pat came in. I never had any use to blackmail anyone."

Except for me, you dumb bastard. Tom silently added, scowling. "But how did you manage to recruit more members without being tracked or found out by the authorities?" He questions. "Like, with you being wanted and all I guess it's safe to say you didn't just go out in the open to demand more members or anything. So you probably had a strategy for this sort of thing." He pointed out, recalling the time he was walking down the street with the keys of his newly-bought apartment twirling on his finger when he found the wanted poster.

No matter how much time seemed to pass since that incident, his mind somehow always drifted to the catastrophic events of that day. Sometimes he wondered what would've happened if he had never found that poster. Would Tord have turned his rage on Edd and Matt instead? Or would he have left peacefully?

Tord's grin widened. "Very clever Tom, maybe you aren't as stupid as I thought you were." He purred in delight, motioning with his hand to the bowl once more. Tom got the memo right away and took a small chunk of bread; eating while he listened to his answer.

"Yes, I had to work around the issue with the authorities in order to expand my numbers. So we were very careful when selecting our members; only choosing those who held special skills and stood out among the rest." Tord explained. "But overtime as our organisation grew we became more open to members, but still careful in our selection to make sure we don't get any spies or undercover cops. So now we have a new system of selection."

"Which is?" Tom questioned, glancing sideways and taking note of the small tray of butter to accompany his meal. He gingerly grabbed the plastic knife and proceeded to swipe it over one piece of bread.

Tord smirked. "Our pub of course! It turned out to have more use for the army aside of just financing our organisation." He exclaimed. "We keep an eye out for frequent clients; the ones who seem miserable and have a reason to come so often. One soldier goes to them undercover, gain their trust, gets info on them, and we offer them a place in the group. If they refuse, we erase their memories from the event; but most cases they are willing to abandon their lives for this new style."

Tom swallowed another chunk of bread, rolling down his throat with great difficulty. It's been a while since he last did this. He grabbed the glass of water and took a sip, still paying attention to the details.

"But it's not just the pub that we use. All soldiers are equipped with fake names and identities so that they may interact with the outside world whenever they want. If they were to stumble upon a person of interest that fits in with our requirements, they are offered a place as well." Tord went on, seemingly not minding in giving away even the most secretive of details regarding his army. He held a lot of pride for his hard work and wasn't afraid of showing it. "Most of the people who take our offer like to delete their previous lives, either by hacking the systems or just simply faking their own deaths; taking entirely new identities as their own and committing themselves fully to the army."

Tom looked up at him. "So your soldiers are basically dead to the world." He concluded grimly.

As much as he disliked Tord and everything he stands for, including the whole army thing, he can't really blame the people for joining him. They must've had their reasons for abandoning their lives. Sure, there could be the occasional communist prick like the leader himself, but what of those people that were in a similar predicament as him? Depressed and lost. Maybe they were in the brink of death before a second chance showed up to them. Tord and the army could be bad but maybe it was the only chance these people had of living.

Tom shook the thought off his head, repressing it down. No person associated with the army deserve his sympathy no matter what their reason was. Himself included.

"Does that mean they all live in the base? Or bases, considering you seem to have more than one." Tom mumbled, taking another sip of water.

"Most of them, yes. But there are those who still hold on to their everyday lives. Think of them as the ones who have a foot in each world. The blissful ignorant world of today's society, and that of the red army's." Tord continued. "They work mostly as spies; feeding us any and all intel they may acquire during their outings, then sneak back to the base and report everything. Most of these types of soldiers have a lot of use to us with their positions: Doctors, bankers, and especially cops."

Tom nearly choked on his drink, but managed to place the glass down and swallow the liquid before it could take effect in his lungs. Tord had a lot more power than he initially imagined if he had undercover soldiers working in important positions. Even if by some miracle he were able to escape, Tom would never be able to go out again; else he will get easily tracked down and just brought back. Heck, after learning this tad bit of information can he trust anyone else ever again? After his experience with the pub, definitely not.

"Are all of your soldiers just that? Soldiers? Or are there different positions?" Tom asks, calming down before glaring daggers at the norsk. "And what about children? Do you take them in as well? I bet you brainwash them in following your messed up ways you sick, communist, bastard-"

Tord pursed his lips, narrowing his eye as he raised one finger to silence him. "Despite what you might think of me, Thomas, I do not take in children. Never had, never will. Only individuals above the age of eighteen are allowed to join. Sure there are some smartasses who think they can fool us into believing they are above the age, just because they think being in an army sounds cool. But our system never failed to detect them, and we erase their memories from the event. But we do keep a tracker on them for future reference." He explained, standing up from his spot against the wall; walking closer to Tom. "And yes, we do have other positions in the army: Doctors, nurses, scientists, engineers, cooks, cleaners, etc. Not all of the people we take in share the same enjoyment as me in going on a killing spree. Anything that can benefit the army in any way possible."

Tom followed his movements as Tord got closer to him. He was baring his teeth into a scowl and his eyeless gaze set into a glare. Tord stopped, towering directly over him.

"I believe those were four questions, so… Eat up!" Tord pointed out.

Tom growled. "I don't feel like eating anymore." In a sudden burst of defiance, he shoved the tray of food off his lap; splattering the remains on the floor. His gaze not once leaving Tord's.

On the other hand, Tord was fuming silently, anger boiling up inside of him ready to burst. He felt the urge to hold Tom in a choke hold in order to teach him a lesson for his defiance. His hands clenched, ready to lash out when Patrick's words echoed in his mind, reminding him of his predicament. Tom is his only and last shot, as much as he hates to admit it. And he can't be too rough on him or he will get damaged in his current state.

With this in mind, Tord takes a deep breath to calm down. He smiles down at Tom, taking him by genuine surprise.

"Tsk tsk, oh Tom, always making a mess of things." Tord cooed, shaking his head.

He extended his robotic hand out towards Tom, making him flinch and try to lean back; but at the same time, he didn't want to show signs of weakness and urged to stand his ground. Tord leaned closer, his hand just inches away from his face. Tom kept his gaze fixed on the Norwegian's single gray eye, completely still.

When they come in contact with each other, Tom grit his teeth and grumbled in irritation. The robotic hand ran through his hair and ruffled him. He hated the touch, it felt like Tord was possessive of him somehow. But strangely enough, it felt affectionate as well. Tom almost leaned into the touch if it weren't for the fact he kept reminding himself as to whom exactly it was ruffling him in the first place.

Tord grinned. "Well, I am glad you took such an interest in my line of work. I hope the information I provided you with was enough to change your mind about a few things." He murmured, still running his robotic fingers gently through Tom's messy brown locks. "Overtime, who knows? You might actually start seeing us as your friends. Maybe even your family perhaps-"

Tom grabbed the robotic hand firmly, halting it in its tracks as he glared up furiously. Tord stared down at the dark sockets, surprised by the rage fuelling behind them.

"Forget it, commie!" Tom snarled, pushing the hand away from him. "I might be your little test subject for your sick experiments, but I am most definitely not part of your stupid army. You are not my leader, and neither are you or anyone else around here my friend." Spitting out each word, Tom shoved him away, making Tord almost stumble back.

In the action, Tom took note how almost effortlessly he managed to shove the other one away. He hadn't felt this strong in a long time. It felt good, but at the same time he knew it was bad news.

Tord recovered from the move, staring back at the brit wide eyed. For someone who is so underweight, he sure is strong. He regained his composure, fixing the collar of his uniform while throwing a little smirk in Tom's direction. "Whatever you say." He chuckled, making Tom fume.

Tord cleared his throat, turning his back to him and sliding the door to the cell open. "Come along now." He glanced sideways back at him. "We have important things to get to. The sooner we go, the earlier we get things done."

Tom grit his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Joy." He muttered in annoyance, following Tord out the room. "Can't wait to see what kind of torture you'll put me through first."

"Oh, you'll see."

[uniquewastelandmiracle-blog]

It is 12: 46 a.m. March 2, 2017 I did not take the Nyquil. I still cannot stop crying. It’s 12: 49 now, and I am 21 crying and crying. My eyes ache. I’m hungry. I already felt terrible because I spent since 8 p.m. I spent trying to understand the simplest form of Music theory from Edinburg University. Coursera really is a gift that I’m too mentally incapable to use to its fullest potential. Aside from knowing the shaft and semitones are, and abbreviations used within like EGBDF and FACE, I’m dull beyond hope. I spent four hours trying to learn a skill I was truly passionate about, and still am for some reason, and did not make any progress. I spent four hours trying to jot down a melody on an online music software and I failed miserably. At one point I nearly felt embarrassed, like I was being watched by a group of people who were silently watching me, but I knew they were watching at how pathetic I was at making music, and trying to grasp how I was this challenged.

Remembering Max Martin say in his early twenties that he had no idea what the hell a producer was or what one did, that he spent day and night trying to figure it out does make me feel a little better, but not better enough. I promised I would never harm myself again. No more cuts. No more pills. No more attempts. I would really have stooped low, even for me, to start carving my skin in my twenties. That’s some shit I left behind in my teenage and elementary years. No more. But then there’s the news. It always breaks my heart to hear of those certain things that take place. I know no one will ever read this, and yet I’m still petrified to open up. I feel like I’ve been mocked for the way I feel about certain things so much that its not even worth talking about it anymore. It’s just something that lingers on in the back of my head till it pushes itself forward sooner or later and the next thing you know its 12:59 a.m. and I’m bawling my eyes out wishing I had an ounce of contentment in my life.  

I’m trying very hard not to let anyone make me feel silly for the way I feel. I’m crying out of empathy, hopelessness, and frustration. If only I could play god for one fucking day and wipe out every form of evil on this planet. Fucking sewer rats, all of them. I’m friendless, and crying all by myself in the middle of the night with snot constantly running down my top lip as I wipe it over and over and over and over again. It’s like being thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty all over again. I should just do it and get it over with. I’m scared of life. I’m also scared of death and I’m stuck in the middle of deciding which one will bring me more peace and calm me the fuck out. I do have a cool uncle and this cool cousin who I’d terribly miss. I don’t think I’d miss my mother at this point. The woman who claims to see me as her number one priority but leaves our most heartfelt talks to play Stepford wife to a husband that abused her daughter for years. The woman who can cook like a pro, and clean like a champion but never has given me the slightest interest in my own interests. The same virtuous woman who can draw, paint, design, speak four languages, do henna, dance, teach, knit, stitch, sculpt, bake, and maintain her physique like its second nature to her but must force herself to listen to my ‘problems’ and give me fifteen minutes of her time. Right in the middle of us talking, he calls to her and without a warning she’s gone out of my sight and won’t be available, my own mother, in my ‘my’ home for hours to come or even till tomorrow. At least in India my mother was actually my mother.

I feel worthless. I convinced my self over the past year that I was an alright gal with something decent to offer to the world but today that feeling is not there. I feel completely useless, unintelligent and hideous. I don’t feel like attempting to write another song, or listen to Edinburg’s music theory videos, or playing around with the Midi. I don’t feel attempting vocal warm ups or covers. In fact, there is only one thing I feel like attempting.

But there is not a single soul out there that would love the rodent as heavily as I do and have. The little cherub has never licked anyone else besides me anyway. Who would every caress him, cuddle with him and sleep beside him the way I do? Who would hold him so close that you can hear the life through the meat of his little body and feel your heartbeat and your favorite family member’s together? I can’t do anything that would hurt myself, because overall it will hurt him, and the little rabbit is turning only three on March 19. A gentle, over emotional, anxiety filled Pisces like me. I knew this little episode of self-hatred, anxiety mixed with depression and panic was coming. I started doing things that should’ve given me clues but even I can’t recognize my own indirect behavior. I stop brushing my hair and stopped eating healthy.  I have not done cardio for weeks now and I have no cleaned my drawers and organized my closet like I do. I started letting myself go in little ways. I started looking for my old contacts to help me self-destruct. But I’m fine as long as no one can tell right?

I am rambling on and on. I stopped crying but my heart still hurts. I’m just another, over emotional young girl that’s just being ungrateful yea? No. I don’t think so. For years I have felt extremely alone. I’m just some emotionally crippled bitch that pities herself a little too often to the world of men and a few women perhaps too yeah? My tears almost returned. I’m too alone. Too out of touch with my identity, if I even have one. Too away from home and the people who make me feel like I’m at home. I’m too far away from my passions and my ability to help oppressed people and creatures. I’m too far from anything I want to have, create, or give and no matter how good I claim my intentions to be, I can’t reach happiness. The top of my shirt is wet from my tears from before. My stomach is rumbling because I’m fucking starving. I’ve got no appetite. I don’t want chocolate or pizza. K actually maybe pizza.

And I’m not even mad at whatever celestial little fucker is out there because of what happens or doesn’t happen to ME. Nope. I know I am damn blessed, even when I’m sobbing so hard because I don’t understand why I can’t grasp basic music theory and how I’ll find a job to support myself. It’s what you’ve done to others. I’m not even talking about my family!  “God”, if you’re out there, I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done to the people of color in the past. You’ve made every single one of them suffer. You didn’t leave any one of us out! Fair play fucker, fair play indeed. Reading about the ‘contributions of men’, the colonization, the raping, stealing, plundering lands that belonged to the default peoples of the land, bombing the life out of them for sources you can exploit, the sex trafficking and tourism….Its illogical at this point to even believe that there is good out there, that there is someone out there that is ‘god’.

What god makes people kill in its name? What god allows all these crimes against women, against the children, against Africa? What god let’s Nazis in 2017 gain presidential power? A bad god. Fuck you god, I hope you fucking die. The people’s ignorance, evil, intolerance has made me almost as intolerant of them as they are in general. Religion is the fucking devil. All that rape, crime, oppression of women, texts written by fucking men, rituals that make no fucking sense, false sense of morality, I’m through all of it. I’ve decided from today on wards I will never step in another temple again. Going to temple made me realize how false religion is. The Indian Americans at my temple are nearly all wealthy, educated, well rounded but so disgusting. They all hate each other and talk about each other behind their backs, all of them. They all are judgmental, kiss ups, that are about materialism and prestige. It irks me to talk so bad about the people who are descendants of my own nationality, but these first and second generation immigrants are a disgrace to Mother India. They don’t act like the real Indians in India. Where there is genuine hospitality even in the street vendors and among rickshaw drivers. I have never been able to identify with the 2nd generation of Indian Americans that I’ve seen come and go in the temples I’ve been to. They are nothing like the Indians in India, I mean aside from their looks I suppose, almost nothing else is similar. Not the same amount of culture, nationalism, understanding and deep appreciation of our strengths and abilities- none of it. 

So what did I learn about myself after writing 1700 words? That I’m an atheist, piece of shit that rambles on so much, everyone must think I’m annoying and that’s why no one talks to me. And that when I want to fucking die like right now at 1:47 a.m., I can’t because I’ll feel bad for my cousin, her father who is my uncle, and my pet rabbit and yes I suppose my mother. Everyone else doesn’t mean shit to me anymore. I am going to go take a piss and then cry myself to sleep. Maybe I’ll get lucky and won’t wake up.