Posted by Sawney Beane on April 20, 2006 at 21:12:39:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #8
COME ON BABY, LIGHT MY PYRE
by Sawney Beane
16 November 1992
763 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 torture and non-consensual male and female snuff. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: If anything was knocked off on a whim, this story was. It's a little bit cute, but there isn't much substance. Isn't it exceedingly ruthless of me to kill one woman and two men in under a thousand words?
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The citizens of the town were treated to a triple-header this morning. It was very exciting for all participants and spectators, more pleasantly for some than for others.
The first one was lucky. He was only a convicted murderer, a minor crime by any standard. His execution was fairly quick. He was forced to place his neck on the block, and his head was disconnected in less than five blows of the hooded executioner's axe. It was entertaining but more or less painless. I applauded appreciatively with the multitude.
The second prisoner was much less lucky. She was an adulteress, and the town elders had dredged up an old Turkish method of execution especially for her. She was forced to remove her clothing, despite her fierce struggle. She shielded her naked body shyly and exuded the nervousness of a caged animal. Her beauty was unremarkable, but it did not matter. The spectacle was exciting nonetheless. She was stuffed into a burlap bag, which was tied securely after a live cat was stuffed in with her. The entire bundle was tossed into the river. What a way to go! When everyone was quite sure that she was dead, the corpse was unwrapped for all to see. I'm sure she would have preferred a declawed cat. It was messy.
The third prisoner was in for a really unpleasant morning. They tied his wrists and ankles to a wooden frame and presented several urchin children with pairs of scissors. His clothing was removed within a few minutes along with a fair amount of skin. One hundred lucky village women were lined up and presented with long needles. They knew exactly what to do with them. Each woman enjoyed her turn as she drove her needle deep into the man's leg. He screamed in agony.
When there were ten or so women left in line, and I had lost nearly all sensation other than intense pain in my legs due to the ninety or so needles piercing them, I recognized one of the women in line. I had dated her once, and we had been very happy for a time. Things pass. She seemed intensely vindictive as she drove her needle, not into my leg, but through my left testicle and on into my thigh. The infinite pain took on a new dimension. Witchcraft does not gain a man friends. I should have been more careful.
Of course, the next woman in line insisted on copying her predecessor, and my right testicle was pierced a few minutes later. I was looking forward to death at that point.
The group of large men designated to do so untied me from my frame and dragged me brutally to a large stake in the centre of the square. I was tied with my hands behind my back and my arms around the pole. A thin wire around my chest and under my armpits painfully supplied the support that my legs lacked. Then came the firewood.
It took quite a while to put it all in place. They stacked it tightly all around me up to my waist. They would have stacked it higher, but they did not want to deprive my audience of the pleasure of seeing my torment. The wood was doused with a flammable substance, which ran into the holes in my legs and caused me great pain. Death became more and more inviting.
The executioner made a big show of igniting my pyre. I first felt heat; then I smelled smoke. My eyes began to water, and my head began to spin. Things began to get really unpleasant when the needles in my lower body heated up and fried the flesh immediately surrounding them. Before long I smelled burning meat. The pain eventually died down in my legs. Mercifully, there was little left in the way of nervous system in that region. However, new torments replaced the old, and the flames began to lick my previously unabused torso and hands.
The audience applauded every time I screamed. I tried not to give them the pleasure, but the effort was futile. I watched my bodily destruction with reasonable displeasure. My hair began to singe. Breathing became difficult. The smell was overwhelming. Death was near. I was looking forward to it.
It's almost over. I can sense my lack of skin. Most of my back is burnt. My hair is burning. The only skin left is on my face. Most of my muscles are roasted. I can't last much longer. I don't really want to. I have my regrets.