I cannot say how long ago I remained in that chamber, but it felt like centuries.
Literal centuries of endless, eternal flagellation, interrupted only by meager time to eat and sleep, and occasional breaks for the flagellator to rest his arm.
Each minute felt like an hour, each hour felt like a day, and each day felt like a year.
I’m not sure if the math quite adds up, but it was very hard to concentrate on it all while it was happening.
My hands quickly filled back out and lost their green pigmentation, returning to the strangely unfamiliar look of human hands; less claw-like and more utilitarian.
Their primary utilization was shoveling gruelish food into my mouth and struggling against my restraints.
Unfortunately, the restraints held.
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I got to know my flagellator pretty well throughout the centuries.
He didn’t eat or sleep with me, and didn’t say much on his breaks, but he was always happy to talk while on the clock.
Our conversations went something like this:
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WHU-PSH!
I tense every muscle in my body.
“I hope you know…”
WHU-PSH!
I grit my teeth.
“...I don’t enjoy this very much…”
WHU-PSH!
I struggle against my restraints.
“...it’s nothing personal, really…”
WHU-PSH!
I roll and loll.
“...but I’ve got to pay my bills, too, you know…”
WHU-PSH!
I writhe and wriggle.
“...besides, I didn’t build the system…”
WHU-PSH!
I hold in a scream.
“...I just live in it, same as you…”
WHU-PSH!
“AAAAIIIEEEE!!!”
“Shut up!”
WHU-PSH!
It was hard to argue with his logic. I tried my best to keep quiet.
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I soon felt the first inkling of hatred spark from the deep recesses of my consciousness.
I resisted at first, but it offered a refuge I could not ignore.
I began to hate, and dwell in my hatred. It was the only way to keep my sanity and screams in.
I hated my flagellator. I hated his whip. I hated the Torture Labyrinth, and Gary the Goblin, and Greebles and The Bug and every other miserable bastard involved in this sick scheme.
But most of all, I began to hate Grungleby.
I hated Grungleby for giving me the Gremlin Juice. I hated Grungleby for leaving me at Torture Fest, and for scampering away with those muscular men. I hated Grungleby for leaving me alone in the Torture Labyrinth.
I pictured every possible scenario of revenge, with every individual involved; throttling, gouging, kicking, kicking, kicking.
All the pain I endured was transformed into pain I would eventually inflict on others.
Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, my Pain-Inflicto-Meter grew and grew.
Eventually, a man dressed in a sharp suit entered the room during a flagellation session.
He informed us both that I had just broken the Torture Labyrinth’s all-time record for “Longest Time Under Flagellation Without Screaming,” which was 7 days, 3 minutes, and 12 seconds. I was to be given more flagellation as a reward.
I screamed for two weeks straight after that.
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Thus, I endured endless centuries of eternal flagellation.