Sweat beads down his pale forehead.
A stray drop glistens momentarily on his brow, before plunging into his eye.
He ignores the stinging sensation and presses onward.
His legs sear with pain.
He's totally unaware.
Other things occupy his frantic mental threads.
I met a guy...
He feels the cold, stainless barrel pressing against the back of his neck.
A shiver goes down his spine.
Mach is running.
The pain of her words were too much.
Words, harmless on their own, given meaning by interpretation.
Imbued with shape by meaning.
That shape is of a knife, repeatedly stabbing at his fragile psyche.
I was not looking...
Once again, Mach finds himself at the whim of a sadist.
Unforgiving temptress, more accurately.
He waited for her.
He cared for her.
He longed for her.
He trusted her.
He ached for her.
And so, she would show him what it was like to truly ache.
So Mach is running.
He doesn't know how long for, but he doesn't even feel the muscle tearing.
The only thing stopping him from running from here to nowhere is his endurance.
He comes to a stop, moving into a crouch and resting his hands on his knees.
We just clicked so well...
He waits patiently for the executioner to rack the slide.
Cock the hammer.
Disable the safety.
It doesn't come.
Instead, he feels the blunt force of the gun being embedded in the back of the head.
Pistol-whipped.
The taste of bitter blood forms in his mouth, as he collapses onto the floor.
The room spins.
Mach is done running.
He's back home.
He enters his house, heads downstairs, and lies down on the bench.
He begins to perform benchpresses.
he's older...he's a fine artist/piercer...
His assailant delivers a swift kick to the groin.
Mach gasps for air, choking on his own blood.
He attempts to stand, but ends up on his hands and knees.
He violently hacks out some vital fluids.
She grins maniacally as he looks up and meets her evil eyes.
It's these sorts of times Mach wishes he were blind.
Mach picks up the free weights and begins to perform curls.
Ligament and sinew begin to shred themselves from the inside out.
His biceps hollar in desperation.
He doesn't hear them.
The physical pain is in the back of his mind.
The mental pain, center stage.
his name is Mo...
A kick to the stomach lands Mach flat on his back.
The air gasps from his lungs, and bubbles of blood foam up as the air sputters out of his mouth.
"Kill me. Just....fucking....kill me now."
Her lips curl into an evil smirk.
"That wouldn't be any fun, now, would it? Let's try something else."
The slide racks.
The hammer cocks.
The firing pin ignites the primer.
The slug leaves the chamber, and the pristine cartridge ejects as the slide blows back.
Mach drops the weights and collapses to the ground.
His cries resound through the empty house.
The mewling baby lies sprawled on the floor, his sweat replaced by dry tears.
Tears filled with a rainbow of confused emotions.
Bye...
The bullet tears a path towards Mach.
It enters, pushing aside flesh.
It goes deeper, piercing and shattering cartilage and tissue.
It exits the back of his knee, trailing behind it blood, and bone, and pain.
Mach screams.
Death would not be greeting him.
She cackles at his now crippled state.
The demoness casually tosses the firearm from her hand, takes one last look at the pathetic mess on the floor, and makes her exit.
The laughter echos down the hall as Mach writhes in anguish.
Special thanks go to the many people who helped me work on this. If you don't know who you are, I'll remind you: Dann, Apatrix, Jarsyl, and Iceowl. Thanks! | 
