The end of it

I would have someone take her/it. Neutralize it somewhere isolated. Totally unable to move. Maybe chained up, maybe a flaccid paralysis. It wouldn’t be able to speak. All its evil, pathetic narcissistic anger, screams, and excuses wouldn’t be heard. Just there. Pathetically writhing in pain—imperceptible.

I would enter the space.

Make sure you got a good look at me. Yes, it’s me that has you here under control. It’s me that will make sure you die.

But not quickly, and least of all not painlessly.

I will never touch you, but every bit of pain you suffer will be my personal doing.

Every tool I use I will touch, but in my wielding of them, I will never touch your skin. I will never touch any of you. Takankin.

Your filth will never infect this world, or anyone else again.

Your face won’t be able to show it, but I’ll see the rage and hate in your eyes. So angry and hopeless.

The only proof will be those tears running down your face.

You’ve seen my face. You know I’ll never let you out of here alive.

You lose.

I guess you should’ve quit while you were behind. I told you today would come. You should have never let your guard down.

To me it doesn’t matter that you waited months and then years, finally lulled into your own sense of security. This day was always going to come.

You perpetrated a lot. But your fate was sealed the night you abused him. In my presence, no less. And the death threats you sent me after. Did you really think I would ever let any of that go?

The first thing that’s getting maimed is your face, followed by the surgical monstrosities on your chest, which didn’t help you. You can’t get cosmetic surgery to improve anything when you’re hideous inside and out. Then finally, I’ll ruin any other vanities you prize.

And yet…maybe your delusion will want to believe that you might still make it out of this. Through some miracle you’ll make it out, and report me to police, and finally “win” the partnership you so desperately wanted to force. And most of all you think you’ll feel some form of dominance over me. Some superiority that someone, anyone, would ever choose you and your demon cunt self over any other woman.

But you never will. You’ll never be chosen by anyone, by any man. You’re trash.

I would have done this alone. I had always planned to have this moment alone. But through a spark of genius, it occurred to me to track down every woman and girl you ever harassed, threatened, or even attempted to hurt.

Fifty years of your evil. Hundreds and hundreds of victims of your petty jealousy and misogyny. They’re all here. Even your daughter.

And they paid me so that they could each be here. I orchestrated everything, and they paid for the pleasure of seeing your final moments. To be part of the doling out your destiny.

You’re hearing my words, and there in your eyes I see what I had always planned to see: absolute terror.

All the women haven’t even stepped in here for you to recognize them, but you know I’m serious.

Your lids stretched back, eyes all white, your pupils are comically large. You want to glare at me, but you can’t. Your gaze was fixed on me before. Now your eyes are darting. Where will they all come from?

It’s not possible, yet you still want to prepare for your impending doom. I guess that’s human nature–if we can even call you human.

The paralysis will start to wear off soon.

It wouldn’t be fun to see everyone hurt you without giving you a chance to impotently attempt to fight them off.

I see you starting to twitch as sensation is coming back. And here they come…

I will simply observe.

And once they’re bored of beating and disfiguring you, I’ll set you on fire. And we’ll watch every moment of your suffering until we’re sure you don’t exist anymore.