Ripped,+Torn+&+Unknown+-+Beth's+novel

Entangled in ropes of rusted chains, the creature stood, its shaggy head hung low, hidden by its neglected mane of hair. It never tried to escape, never put up a struggle – as long as it was sane, it accepted its fate. The windows of its captivity had been boarded shut, as not to remind it of past luxuries or memories. Its ‘room’ was dark and filthy, the floor resembling a patch of forest ground to keep it content in its natural environment. The walls were splashed with dirt, blood, mud, everything it was used to on the outside. All this confinement did was remind it of its other life. Of the freedom, of the rejection. Of the mistakes. The creature did not even flinch as the door opened with a resounding clang. It marvelled at the taste of fresh air that gushed in. Its captor walked in, stroking the whip that she had brought. The creature remained hunched, but opened its slit eyes slowly, wrinkling its snout as a stench followed the forgotten fresh air. Its captor unwound the strips of leather and watched them fall as she stopped in front of the mangled figure. She undid her hair and shook it out, stepping towards the beast. It stared on at the floor, bracing itself. The woman turned away for a moment, then delivered a fiery fist in the creature’s already broken jaw. It spat out the blood that came with the punch and tensed its muscles once more as the leathered beauty took another swing. It felt her head next to it, in the right position to whisper something in its ear. It raised its straggled head, teeth gritted and bared. Its stomach stood out, proud and readied. The woman dragged a lazy arm across its chest, pulling the rope behind her. Another blow to the stomach added yet another mark to its scarred skin. There was barely any flesh left after it had almost been shredded to pieces. The woman took up the rope again, and again she ripped it across his stomach. She struck again. And again. And again. The creature did not scream, nor yell, nor weep, however much its wounds did. It took its punishment with every strike. At the next stage of this conditioned torture, the female instead used the rope to fit beneath its throat. She slightly tugged the whip to coax its neck into straining before sharply pulling it to choke him as hard and as slowly as possible. It struggled only enough for survival, not allowing her the pleasure of watching it suffer, and not to release the animal just stirring beneath the surface of its skin. It retched for air, its throat threatening to give up the struggle, and leave the creature battle with its breath. She released it suddenly, leaving it cough violently, blood soon meeting the grubby floor.