The Craptacular: Guantanamo Edition


Tortured For Her Weight

By Bonnie Dean

She doesn’t know how long she was unconscious. She was even unsure how long she had been in the chamber. Days and hours melded into one another. Time became meaningless; her pain was eternal.

Khloe twisted her body to ease the stiffness in her limbs. Her movement was limited by the iron chains that bound her wrists and ankles. Her back still stung from the lashings. Each bead of sweat that trickled into her open wounds felt like a little knife. 

Someone splashed water on her face. The coldness of it shocked her into temporary alertness.

As her eyes focused, the three dark figures before her became sharper – her torturers.

The tallest one stepped forward. She could smell the rot coming from his mouth. She hoped the cancer that was eating his insides caused him as much pain as he made her experience.

“Give us your weight!” he screamed. His spittle landed on her forehead.

Khloe glared at him. “No!” she cried.

Her defiance seemed to both amuse and anger him. She thought she saw the corner of his mouth go up, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a sneer. His face turned red and his brow became furrowed.

“This is your last chance. You will give us your weight!”

She had been tortured for a lot of things – for information, mostly. The whereabouts of her criminal boyfriend, the hiding place of their cache of guns, when they buried the gold they stole. But never for her weight. It made no sense to her, but given the strange, illogical path the world was taking, nothing surprised her anymore.

“Never!” Khloe said, her voice affecting a low, dead timbre. “You can torture me all you want, I will never give you my weight! You can have all the gold. And the guns. But not my curves!”

And with every last bit of energy she could muster, with every drop of saliva she could draw from her mouth, she spit in his face.

His eyes grew wide. He wiped her phlegm from his face, and looked at it in his palm. The insolence!

He drew up his hand and slapped her. The giant ring on his finger left a small gash in her cheek. That’ll leave a mark, Khloe thought.

“For that, you will DIE!”

He silently motioned to the other two men, who began to unlock the chains binding her to the rack. As they dragged her away to face her executioner, Khloe called out her last words –

“I fear nothing for God is with me…and my bodacious booty!”


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