IX. I dream of massacres

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NINE

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NINE. I DREAM OF MASSACRES

      Four caged dogs sit chained to the floor in a sick game of time out

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Four caged dogs sit chained to the floor in a sick game of time out. Their necks are scared with leash marks, their mouths are muzzled to keep from biting, their teeth have been pulled, leaving their gums empty and bloody. Their growls are tucked back into their throats, their ears are always down and their chests are always heaving, pulses killing erratically. This kennels not big enough for the four of them. It's hot, it's sweaty, it smells.

This is what He wants. He's teaching them how to be dogs, how to listen, to obey, to never want to leave. But they aren't dogs. They're not animals. They're girls. They have voices. They have minds. They have feelings. But that's not what He wants. He wants them to obey, to lay at His feet. They're muzzled. They've trapped. They have no choice.

Perhaps she's always been a dog with her wide eyes and undying love. Her blind trust, the way she follows people, the way she's comfortable nuzzling into them. She's all of the sweetness and the loyalty of a dog, so maybe that's what she is. Maybe that's why after a long while, she began to think she would never return home, that this was her home. She would die here. Her loyalty would die here.

Her chains are yanked, her muzzle removed, and Lacy stares into the eyes of her owner, her kidnapper, and the stitches slowly rip her lips apart as a blood curdling scream escapes from her mouth.

Lacy can't breathe when she wakes up, a pool of sweat drenching every part of her body. It's still dark outside, the stars and moon peeking through her closed curtains. She clutched her chest, her shirt bunching through her fingers. "It's okay," her words are barely audible. "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay," she tries to find the volume in her voice. She shivered from the cold sweat on her body. Lacy glanced at her alarm clock. Eleven PM. She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

The first thing on her mind is guilt as she thinks back to the fight with her dad. Lacy left her room and went downstairs in hopes that he was still there. "Dad?" She calls out and wraps her arms around her body, still cold. "Daddy?"

Speak No Evil, Stiles StilinskiWhere stories live. Discover now