Lately I’ve been thinking about ways to torture someone.

Whoa! Wait! Calm down! Put your eyeballs back in their sockets. I would never actually torture someone. I’ve just had a lot of things happen to me lately that reminded me of torture and my imagination ran with it.

Picture this:

You enter a dark, dank, windowless room. You have your orders; you know what you need to do. You approach a figure in the center of the room. He is tied to a chair, blindfolded, but he has long since given up the useless fight against the thick ropes that are keeping his ankles together and his hands tight behind his back. Upon hearing the door click closed, he raises his head, stiffening his shoulders. “Who’s there?!”, he demands, his voice loud but shaking. You feel a slight pang of guilt in your chest, empathy for the man in front of you who has resumed his frantic shoulder movements, trying to get his hands free. You shake your head as if trying to physically dispel the thought – no. You’re not supposed to feel sorry for him. He has taken something that doesn’t belong to him and it is your job to help find out where it is. This is not a good man, you remind yourself as you straighten your back and take a few confident steps towards your captive. You use one hand to quickly tear the blindfold up off the man’s head. You see a blank look flash over his face as his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room, cast by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. His eyes follow your figure up to your face, his eyes searching yours.

A glimmer of hope shines in his dull, grey eyes when he doesn’t recognize your face. His eyes grow brighter still when they fall on the long, cylindrical object in your left hand. You follow his gaze and pull the container up to his eye level. He brings his eyes back up to yours and starts to beg, “Please, please let me go! I won’t tell anyone it was you, I promise! Please, help me!”. Remembering again what this man has done, you narrow your eyes at him. Your lips pressed tightly together, you raise the container to your other hand and slowly pull of the lid, tossing it to the ground. Never breaking eye contact, you reach into the container, far slower than was natural. Still looking somewhat hopeful, the man watches as you slowly pull something from the can and place it purposefully into your mouth.

Staring at your now chewing jaw, the man utters one more defeated, “please” before meeting your gaze once again. You pop another potato chip in your mouth and take another step towards him, the corner of your mouth twitching into a half smile as you see him hungrily lick his lips. You reach in and pull out one more chip, pausing when it was about an inch from your mouth. You look into his pleading eyes and extend your hand towards him. He opens his mouth like a newborn bird and greedily grasps the chip with his lips. He quickly pulls it in with his tongue and crunches it hastily for a few moments before swallowing. You raise an eyebrow in mild disgust at his lip-smacking noises and toss another snack into your mouth. His eyes never leave the chip from when it leaves the can until it disappears behind your teeth. You trace your tongue slowly across your lips and he looks into your eyes desperately, silently begging you for another one.

This time you don’t fight the evil grin that spreads across your face. You see the hope fall from his face as you turn on your heel and make your way back to the door. The man is screaming now, calling after you, begging you to come back. The door slams shut behind you and you continue down a long hallway towards a man heading your way. You look into his dark eyes, hand him the can with a smirk and say, “He’s putty in your hands, sir.” You turn to watch him enter the small room and notice that the man’s screams stopped suddenly as soon as his eyes fell on the large frame filling the doorway. Turning and heading further down the hallway, you eat the last chip you had grabbed from the can before handing it over, knowing you had done your part. You climb the stairs and enter a room with a few old couches pushed against the drab walls. Suddenly you realize that you’re actually looking forward to your next assignment. You guess it’s true what they say…once you pop, the fun don’t stop.

Seriously, how funny is that?

Torture by potato chip! No? Am I the only one laughing?

Stay with me, let me explain.

So the other day I was in the kitchen at work making a latte. Before I started, I took a chip out of the container on the counter that had been put there for testing. I opened and closed the container a few times, so that I was actually testing and not just taking advantage of the free chips, before embarking on the latte-making process. While I was waiting for the espresso to finish, I drifted over to the counter again and took another chip or two. After I finished my latte, I took a few more. Someone else in the kitchen joked about how thorough my research was and I laughed and threw up my hands in defeat. “I can’t help it! You literally CAN’T have just one chip!”

Gosh, I thought to myself as I headed back to my desk, only being able to have ONE chip would be like TORTURE.

Heh, the voice in my head continued, that would be kind of funny.

Thus, a story was born.

Other potential forms of torture?  Putting itching powder on someone, but not letting them itch.  Leaving someone in a room with car alarm noises going off in random 15 minute intervals.  Force someone to listen to Rebecca Black’s Friday on repeat.  Have Christopher Walken read song lyrics to someone all day. While he’s wearing his Sleepy Hollow costume.

Twisted, I know. My mind is a dark, scary place sometimes.


~ by Valerie Anne on 08/09/2011.

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