Who says I can’t do it. The voices talk to me, they give me ideas. I picture ripping your skin open from the belly to the neck.
Not quickly but slowly so I can watch the blood gush out of you while every major organ is being poked at with the dull blades of a dagger. They tell me to watch you suffer and pray to what you call god for mercy with bloody tears running down your face, though you know you are about to die. Or maybe torture would better suit your taste. I could strap you down and cut every limb off. Each time you pass out I’ll stop and wait so you will wake up to something being cut off. Who knows, maybe I will, thats just what they tell me to do.