Six Degrees of Suffering

“Death isn't an event in life: we do not live for us the experience death.”
- Ludwig Wittgenstein

(Warning! Slightly detailed scenes of cannibalism, torture, abuse and mention of suicide and rape is present in this chapter. It is unavoidable, and will be present every step of the way. If you don't like the aforementioned scenes, please don't read the chapter. It's that simple.)

o~o~o~o~o~o~o

Six weeks ago, the country where I lived was attacked. Women were raped. Children were abducted, and able bodied males aged above fifteen years old were forced into work camps. I, myself, was working in those hellish camps. Working for an organization that calls themselves as the Resistance, they claimed to 'rid of the monsters that control humanity itself'.

I scoffed at that. They aim to rid humanity of the monsters, yet not knowing that they were the monsters themselves.

Today, I and a large group of workers, varying from sixteen to sixty in years of age, were tasked to carry newly mined minerals back to their factories. There, they purify said minerals, and sell them for profit, which in turn powers their workforce.

I grunted heavily as I carried the bag of assorted ores and metal above my head. I was sweating heavily, and my arms were ready to give away, due to fatigue. It was unbearably hot, mostly because of the smoke coming out of the ground. We were directly on the side of a volcano, and the hot steam it produced was shooting out from the cracks on the surface. The air was almost unbreathable, it was too smoky to even inhale deeply.

"Move your lazy ass, kid!" The person watching us shouted in anger. I looked up and felt fear. Thinking it was me that did something wrong, I awaited my judgement, and closed my eyes. I kept going, however. I went faster than my usual pace, trying not to trip over the hot, igneous rocks that the volcano was made out of.

A minute passed, and nothing happened. I slowly opened my eyes, and looked around. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing it wasn't me that angered our guards. But that meant that someone else was enraging the guards.

I looked to my left, and saw a young boy, possibly the age of sixteen, which was slowing down his pace due to exhaustion. He was struggling to keep the bag over his head, his body was shaking violently, and he had tears running down his face. He was literally wearing a sack for clothing, and was bare footed.

Well, we all were.

Parts of his body was blackened due to ashes and burns, and wounds were scattered all over his body. Bruises from beatings can also be seen, from behind the black ashes. Surely, this kid has been abused repeatedly by the guards. They even called him Runty, due to his height. He was 4"9, and very thin. He coughed heavily due to the smoke, and was moving at a snails pace, taking one step at a time.

Our guards did not accept of his speed, however. Did not care for his well-being, too. One guard started to mock him, and after that, two more joined in. The kid, however, ignored the howls of the officers and continued to move.

"Hey, Runty!" I heard a voice from my right. I turned my head to the direction from where the voice came, and saw an officer with a rock on his hand. He tossed the rock a few times, before shouting, "Catch!" He shouted, throwing the rock as hard as he could towards the poor child.

The rock hit his head hardly, causing him to fall down to the ground, dropping all the ores he was carrying and making them scatter all across the ground. The guards were all laughing heartily at the child, which stayed limp, lying on the ground. He wept silently, and apparently, it was too much for me. The others stopped, and stared at the poor child. Apparently, they could no nothing. Anyone who would even do so much as go to the kid would get beaten up.

Well, I wasn't afraid anyways.

"Hey, assholes!" I shouted, causing most of the officers' attention to go to me. I dropped my bag, and grabbed a handful of fist-sized ore. "Stop harassing that poor kid!" I shouted, before throwing a piece of metal at a guard, standing beside the pitiful child.

The guards immediately took cover from my missiles, and avoided the incoming ore. "Get that idiot!" A guard shouted, before ordering everyone back to work.

Continuing my assault, I bent down to grab more ore to throw, but I was then tackled by a guard before I could even touch one piece. I grabbed an ore, and slammed it on the head of the officer. He immediately went limp on top of me, enabling me to push him off me. Before I could even stand up, a group of guards went around me, and started to kick me continuously.

I grunted, and winced in pain. Secretly, I hid the piece of ore on a pocket sewn into my rags.

One officer then kicked me hard on my stomach, making me cough in pain. I became weak, and never bothered to stop them. Pain seared from everywhere in my body, and they still continued to kick the shit out of me.

Of course, no one bothered to help me. They would get the same fate, if they interfered. All they could do is watch, and pass by.

After a few minutes of continuous kicking, a single hard kick to my face ended the torture, leaving me disoriented and in pain. I rolled to my side, resting on my left shoulder as I moved my hand to my face, checking to see if there was any broken bones, open wounds, or any bruises. A pool of warm liquid caught my attention, it was forming just below my face. I swiped my index and my middle finger on the pool, before moving my fingers just in front of my face.

'Hm, blood.' I thought, remembering a memory I had experienced not too long ago.

I stared at my bloody fingers for an unknown amount of time, before coughing heavily. More blood sputtered out of my mouth, spraying them to the rock in front of me. I then lied on my back, blood was running down my face, originating from my nose.

My vision then blurred, and another pain shot from my stomach.

"This is what we do to who would even dare to betray the Resistance!" The officer said, walking around me, flaring his arms out, as if he is trying to impress others. "If anyone wants to join this idiot," he said, before placing a boot on my head. "This, low-life," he hissed, stepping harder into the side of my face. I then grunted, and screamed, unable to take the pain he was giving me. He then removed his boot, and stepped back from me. "Then be my guest!"

He ran forward, raised his left foot backwards like he was trying to kick a ball, and smiled. Kicking as hard as he could, I felt no pain at all as the boot collided with my face.

All I knew next, was that I blacked out. Sweet relieve entered my mine as darkness finally consumed me, giving me a slight reprieve from the hellish world I call home.

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

"Agh!" I yelled, my body quickly jolting upwards as I awoke from my slumber. My eyes opened almost immediately after I sat upright, causing the bright sunlight to immediately harass my unadjusted eyes. By reflex, I raised a hand to cover my eyes as it tried to adjust itself to the light, and after a few minutes, it was able to tolerate the light again.

'Damn, I must've been out for a long time.' I thought.

I held my head, pain still wreaking from my cranium. I then shook it off, and decided to scan the environment around me, because I'm sure as hell that this ain't the volcano anymore. Even with my vision still blurry, I can still make out faint outlines of the objects around me.

It seemed like the guards tossed me out and left me to die in a forest all alone. Apparently, it was a dark forest, no light could be seen penetrating the thick foliage above me...well, except for the little hole that gave me the stray ray of light. Other than that, the forest was completely dark, illuminated only by a faint green light, the only light strong enough to pass through the dense cover.

It seemed that I had ended in a small clearing, with not one path in sight. I sighed, and decided to walk in a straight line. I ignored the ripped, squalid sack that I call my clothing as it snagged into branches. I kept walking.

And walking..

And walking...

An hour later, and I began to feel the effects of thirst and fatigue. Well, not just thirst. It was dehydration. Back in those labour camps, they only gave us half a bottle of water and a plateful of slop they call 'food'...if you're lucky.

In some(most) cases, they don't even bother to stand up and do their jobs, like feeding the prisoners. They just sit in their comfortable seats, sometimes even sleep. Those lazy asses never cared for us. They showed no mercy, no pity, and no remorse.

If you'd ask for food, you would get beaten up.

If you complained, you would get beaten up.

If you would even sit for a single second, you would get beaten up.

Those who refused to do their bidding would get knocked out, and brought into the torture chamber.

They'd sap a man of his strength, until all what's left of him was a sad, empty husk. A carcass devoid of feeling and happiness. A man that had lost hope, who's only real goal in life is to end their suffering.

Yes, many people tried to end their lives inside those prison camps. Some tried to hang themselves. Some preferred to cut their neck, or their wrists. But, the most preferable one is to drive a knife, or any pointy object through their own skull. It's silent, and it's painless.

The only challenge is: if you had the will to do it.

Now, in those camps, we would know if someone had successfully killed themselves. Because everytime someone ends their own life, the guards would mock us. They would place one of his own body parts sitting right next to your own food.

Sometimes, they would take a random prisoner in front of them, and force him to eat whatever remained on his fellow prisoner.

It was simple. Eat the entire carcass, from flesh to muscle, and you get out, unscathed. Refusing to eat it, or not finishing it, however, will get you beaten up, or sometimes shot dead, for the next prisoner to feed on.

It was sick, and the officers loved it.

They'd bet on it, guffawing their hearts out as they would watch a human being consume another.

I shuddered at the thought; an old memory surfaced just as I remembered those times. Two months ago, I was chosen for the sick ritual.

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

I was lead out of my cell, and was brought into an area filled with chairs and tables, covered by camouflage netting. The small space was illuminated by small amounts of light passing through the netting, and there was a foul stench in the air.

A large green mat stained with hardened blood was placed in front of those chairs. I was then made to sit down on that match, and await orders. I was still fresh that time, not knowing what I would do that day, I waited anxiously.

Minutes later, they'd drag a dead body then throw it on the mat, in front of me. Officers and guards would then sit on those chairs in front of me, and they would cheer and holler.

"Come on, Johnson!" "Eat it!" "Come on, eat it!" "I betted twenty helmes in this, eat or I will personally make your life hell!"

The cacophony of yells from the officers filled my ears, as they encouraged me to eat the dead child lying in front of me. The body was still fresh, apparently. Blood could seen be seen gushing out from his small wounds. I flinched, as the new, much more fouler smell immediately found its way into my nostrils.

"Come on, we don't have all day!" One of the officers shouted in impatience, before taking a swig from his beer.

"Yeah, I'll give you ten seconds before I blast your tiny head off from your neck!" An officer shouted, before taking a pistol from his holster.

"One..."

I looked down at the corpse, and immediately gagged. I couldn't even eat undercooked meat, let alone a raw carcass from a young man.

"Two..."

Tears began to slowly form at the side of my eyes, and I knelt down on one knee, then on two. I took deep breaths, and looked at the body. It was getting pale, and the bottom was getting blue. "Come on! Your meal's getting cold!" An officer cackled, holding his stomach as he laughed.

"Eight..."

I blinked, and looked at the officer with the gun. He was already standing, and pointing at the weapon toward me. That bastard, he skipped a few numbers just to intimidate me.

"Nine..."

"He's not gonna do it, I tell you," I heard an officer speak. "Might as well give me that twenty helmes." He said, persuading his fellow guard to give him the money.

Surely, he wasn't going to do it...right?

The officer pulled down the hammer of the pistol, and placed his finger on the trigger. "Ten--"

I immediately bit into the man's hand, tears running down my cheeks as I took rubbery, bitter flesh from his finger.

The officers cheered, and laughed at my torture. They kept encouraging me, some even placed a beer bottle beside be, so I could swallow down the flesh. I refused.

Piece by piece, bit by bit, I began to eat. The flesh was hard, and cold. My face was bloody, it looked like I was some sort of zombie if you could see me.

During the entire time, I wept. Ignoring the taste, I kept eating, and telling myself that it was going to be alright. After I've eaten the entire right arm, I moved to the left.

Biting on the finger once again, I slowly made my way through the arm, before moving to the leg.

The officers cheered at the grotesque and horrifying scene. They counted their helmes, which was the currency in my country, and drank their beer. Some even took pictures of me. They kept offering me beer, I kept refusing.

I began to move to the lower abdomen. I began to bite in the waist, but to no avail. It was extremely hard.

"Awh, can't take a bite?" The officers said, before standing up, and taking a knife.

I looked at him fearfully. 'This is it,' I told myself. 'I'm going to die, and that last thing I had done was eat a person.' More tears then fell down my bloodied cheeks. 'Like a cannibal.'

I expected him to raise his knife and end my life, and call another prisoner to feed on my remains. I then looked at the body, feeling his chest, which had ribs sticking out. 'Like me and him.'

But, I then saw the handle of the knife being handed out to me. "Come on, just a little something to help you eat." He smiled widely, like a sick murderer taking pleasure from his kill. Well, they were already like that.

Sick murderers that would even smile as they would torture a young child, calling for his mother, pleading for help as he endured the pain they wreaked upon him. They didn't do it for information, and they don't do it because of orders.

They would do it for their own amusement.

I hesitantly took the knife, and decided if I should charge at the officers with the knife. I then looked at them, and saw that they had their weapons taken out. It seems that they had already thought of the contingency.

I drove the knife through the stomach, and took out a large, square piece of flesh. I stared at the piece, the cheers of encouragement from the officers drowning my thoughts.

I couldn't take it any longer.

I stood up, and threw the piece of flesh at the officers. With a loud cry, I took the knife, and charged towards the guard.

I lunged forward, my knife headed directly to a nearby officer's neck. I tackled him, and drove him to the ground. I raised my knife, and smiled at the officer.

Before I could even hit him, however, I was suddenly disarmed by another guard from behind me, and I was then knocked out.

o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

I shivered, the air around me was getting colder. I rubbed on my shoulders, trying to heat them as much as possible. I exhaled, a jet of blue mist coming out of my mouth.

I began to move slower and slower. Huffing, I panted heavily. I was becoming disorientated and weak. Hunger, starvation and abuse took it's toll on my body. Taking my last few steps, I reached out a hand forward, like I was trying to reach an imaginary goal.

I fell down to the ground, and slowly lost my strength. I let out a light chuckle, which turned into a fit of coughs. I let out a relieved exhale, finally, I was free.

The last thing I saw was a black silhouette of a small horse, bending down to look me in the eyes before I fully lost consciousness.