Posted by Sawney Beane on September 12, 2007 at 23:25:13:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #151
THAT SPECIAL FEELING
by Sawney Beane
12 August 2007
894 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of non-consensual snuff. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm just full of ideas this weekend. Trying to catch up on some partially written stories, but new ideas keep popping up. This one came up as I was watching a biographical film about a famous serial killer. Not much related, but there it is.
-------------------
"So is there some special thing you feel in the last moments of life?"
Ellen heard the voice before she had completely regained consciousness. She had no idea what he meant, but it was clear that this date had veered away from its promising beginnings.
As she blinked open her eyes, she realized that she was no longer in Doug's living room. Grey cinderblock walls and bare light bulbs hanging from above gave the room a sinister glow. But the most sinister thing about her situation was that she was completely immobilized. She could not move, heavy leather straps held her arms at her sides and bound her legs to the padded bench. She was lying face down, and her neck was in a tight wooden collar, a humiliating stock. As the fuzziness worked its way out of her eyes, an alarming object came into focus. She was staring down at a wicker basket filled with pillows.
"I mean, I've always wondered what it must feel like to be on the edge of the precipice," Doug droned on.
Ellen's voice was dry and scratchy. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Ellen, I'm so glad you're awake."
The date had gone very well. Dinner and a film, then back to his place for a drink. But after only one drink she had felt very weak and passed out on the floor. And now she found herself here.
"Where am I?"
"Well, dear, I thought we were getting along so well that maybe you would like to see my dungeon."
"Your what?"
"Dungeon," Doug repeated patiently. "It's all the rage these days," he added wryly.
"I'm not so sure I like it."
"Oh, you'll get used to it," he commented. "I hoped you'd like my guillotine too."
Ellen suddenly understood her situation. "What?"
"Yes, it's brand new," he said. "Do you like it? I built it myself."
"Maybe if you let me up, I could have a better look."
"Well, perhaps, but I think you have the best seat in the house where you are."
"Damn it, Doug, let me off of this thing. This is not funny."
"It's not a joke, dearest."
"Fucking let me out!"
"Watch your manners, dear," he scolded gently. "We have some important things to discuss."
He placed a hand on her secured shoulder in a gentle gesture. But it's main effect was to make Ellen aware of her nudity. "You took my clothes off, you bastard!"
"Well, I'm sorry about that, but I just had to see that body of yours. Magnificent."
Ellen did not accept the compliment gracefully. "I'm going to call the cops on you for this. You can't do this sort of thing to women. It's not right."
"Perhaps not, but I don't think you'll tell anyone."
Ellen gulped and refrained from saying the rest of what was on her mind.
"So I was just talking before you woke up about the last moments of life. It's always been a fascinating subject for me. I mean, do you feel different right before you're going to die?"
"What?"
"Well, it just that sometimes when your car hurtles off the side of the cliff, you smash into the ground and die of blunt force trauma. But sometimes, your car rolls a bit and you come away with some serious but not terminal injuries. Do you know ahead of time which one it is?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, I mean how does a mind feel when it's on the verge of annihilation? Is there some special feeling you get? I'm not talking about near death experiences; it's cheating if you survive, and you really can't interview those who actually experience the feeling I'm talking about."
"You're insane!"
"No, just inquisitive. It really wouldn't be right if there wasn't some special feeling. I mean, what would it be like if you can live for years and then of an instant, without any warning, you no longer exist. Like turning off a light. That can't be it. It's much too anti-climactic. There must been some finale, some final mental show to indicate the moment of passing. Otherwise what fun would it be?"
"Doug, let me out right now."
"Not just yet, dear. So here you are in my well-appointed basement dungeon. You're strapped securely to my homemade guillotine, and the basket is ready for your head. Are you getting that special feeling?"
"What special feeling?"
"The one I'm talking about. I mean, maybe I'm just teasing; maybe I will let you go in a few minutes. This guillotine has never been used on a real person before, maybe it will jam or fail to sever that sexy neck of yours. It could go either way. My theory is that if this is real and if you are moments from a quick death, you're experiencing a special feeling. There has to be something to distinguish it from the possibility that you will survive this evening. If you are really going to die, you must be in the middle of that grand finale right now!"
"I don't feel anything special," Ellen said, controlling her emotions and sensing an opportunity.
Doug stared her in the eyes for a few moments to see if she was lying. "A pity," he replied. "Well, no theory is perfect." And then he casually flicked the release switch.
2
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #141
THAT SPECIAL FEELING
by Sawney Beane
12 August 2007
894 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains scenes of non-consensual snuff. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm just full of ideas this weekend. Trying to catch up on some partially written stories, but new ideas keep popping up. This one came up as I was watching a biographical film about a famous serial killer. Not much related, but there it is.
-------------------
"So is there some special thing you feel in the last moments of life?"
Ellen heard the voice before she had completely regained consciousness. She had no idea what he meant, but it was clear that this date had veered away from its promising beginnings.
As she blinked open her eyes, she realized that she was no longer in Doug's living room. Grey cinderblock walls and bare light bulbs hanging from above gave the room a sinister glow. But the most sinister thing about her situation was that she was completely immobilized. She could not move, heavy leather straps held her arms at her sides and bound her legs to the padded bench. She was lying face down, and her neck was in a tight wooden collar, a humiliating stock. As the fuzziness worked its way out of her eyes, an alarming object came into focus. She was staring down at a wicker basket filled with pillows.
"I mean, I've always wondered what it must feel like to be on the edge of the precipice," Doug droned on.
Ellen's voice was dry and scratchy. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Ellen, I'm so glad you're awake."
The date had gone very well. Dinner and a film, then back to his place for a drink. But after only one drink she had felt very weak and passed out on the floor. And now she found herself here.
"Where am I?"
"Well, dear, I thought we were getting along so well that maybe you would like to see my dungeon."
"Your what?"
"Dungeon," Doug repeated patiently. "It's all the rage these days," he added wryly.
"I'm not so sure I like it."
"Oh, you'll get used to it," he commented. "I hoped you'd like my guillotine too."
Ellen suddenly understood her situation. "What?"
"Yes, it's brand new," he said. "Do you like it? I built it myself."
"Maybe if you let me up, I could have a better look."
"Well, perhaps, but I think you have the best seat in the house where you are."
"Damn it, Doug, let me off of this thing. This is not funny."
"It's not a joke, dearest."
"Fucking let me out!"
"Watch your manners, dear," he scolded gently. "We have some important things to discuss."
He placed a hand on her secured shoulder in a gentle gesture. But it's main effect was to make Ellen aware of her nudity. "You took my clothes off, you bastard!"
"Well, I'm sorry about that, but I just had to see that body of yours. Magnificent."
Ellen did not accept the compliment gracefully. "I'm going to call the cops on you for this. You can't do this sort of thing to women. It's not right."
"Perhaps not, but I don't think you'll tell anyone."
Ellen gulped and refrained from saying the rest of what was on her mind.
"So I was just talking before you woke up about the last moments of life. It's always been a fascinating subject for me. I mean, do you feel different right before you're going to die?"
"What?"
"Well, it just that sometimes when your car hurtles off the side of the cliff, you smash into the ground and die of blunt force trauma. But sometimes, your car rolls a bit and you come away with some serious but not terminal injuries. Do you know ahead of time which one it is?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, I mean how does a mind feel when it's on the verge of annihilation? Is there some special feeling you get? I'm not talking about near death experiences; it's cheating if you survive, and you really can't interview those who actually experience the feeling I'm talking about."
"You're insane!"
"No, just inquisitive. It really wouldn't be right if there wasn't some special feeling. I mean, what would it be like if you can live for years and then of an instant, without any warning, you no longer exist. Like turning off a light. That can't be it. It's much too anti-climactic. There must been some finale, some final mental show to indicate the moment of passing. Otherwise what fun would it be?"
"Doug, let me out right now."
"Not just yet, dear. So here you are in my well-appointed basement dungeon. You're strapped securely to my homemade guillotine, and the basket is ready for your head. Are you getting that special feeling?"
"What special feeling?"
"The one I'm talking about. I mean, maybe I'm just teasing; maybe I will let you go in a few minutes. This guillotine has never been used on a real person before, maybe it will jam or fail to sever that sexy neck of yours. It could go either way. My theory is that if this is real and if you are moments from a quick death, you're experiencing a special feeling. There has to be something to distinguish it from the possibility that you will survive this evening. If you are really going to die, you must be in the middle of that grand finale right now!"
"I don't feel anything special," Ellen said, controlling her emotions and sensing an opportunity.
Doug stared her in the eyes for a few moments to see if she was lying. "A pity," he replied. "Well, no theory is perfect." And then he casually flicked the release switch.