I awoke with my hands tied behind my back; I could feel rope digging into them. I look around at the crowd cheering at me; searching desperately for what’s happening at this place. I struggle before realizing that my hands and feet have been tied to a steel pole. I search my memory for why I’m here, I remember my torture, the cattle prod pressing against my already broken ribcage, the glasgow smile carved with a broken shard of glass on the right side of my mouth, and the bag put over my head as I was kicked unconscious. As I thought of these pains they began to return to my body, first the ribs, then my head began to throb.
It was becoming unbearable. The anticipation of the unknown event as well as the pain. The giant double-doors began to open on the side of the coliseum. A man walked forwards, holding an object I couldn’t see clearly. He threw up his arms in an celebratory gesture, as if trying to excite the crowd. He walked towards me, I could clearly see the object now, it was a small pipe. He walked towards me and I began to see the details of the pipe more clearly, it was roughly two feet long and made of what looked like brass, but what I couldn’t take my eyes off of was the small spike set on one end. It looked about an inch long, It couldn’t kill me; but I knew it wasn’t supposed to. It was meant for maiming and torture.
He strode towards me with a step full of arrogance; raising the weapon as he walked. The crowd began to cheer louder as he did this, as if they’d been waiting for this sick event for a long time. The man was getting close, I was even beginning to see his face clearly, he had black eyes and black hair that hung in front of his eyes. I began to wonder if he’d done this before, so mercilessly taken a man’s life. He walked up to me, touching the cold metal to my neck and turning it over, touching the tip of the point against my skin, he drew it up to my cheek and whispered something in a foreign language I didn’t understand. he pulled the weapon back as if prepping it to swing, he began to twist it forward, the point aiming right at my side. Right before the blade stuck in me he stopped the pipe. He began laughing, as if finding my terror sadistically funny. I noticed the small tears filling my eyes. I fought them and succeeded; I couldn’t let these animals think they’d won.
The man walked towards me again and spat towards the ground. He began pointing at me and raising his weapon. He drew the spike up to the center of my ribcage. I gave up on trying to appear tough, I began crying, gasping for air between my pleas for help, I tried to shake free of the rope bounding my hands and feet behind the pole. I knew it was a futile effort, I could never get away from it; even if I hadn’t been tortured. The man began to bring his weapon back. Then, all at once, I saw him swing, and felt the blade stick in my chest.


Thu, 10/27/2011 - 11:49pm

What the fuck does this have to do with marijuana!? THIS IS NOT A HIGHDEA GET THE FUCK OFF THIS SITE

Fri, 10/28/2011 - 12:41pm
StayPuft Says:

Sir, go look at the poplar page. Pretty much all of it is copy-and-pasted Internet jokes which have nothing to do with marijuana. This site is for work that you do when you're high. For instance when people write long highDEAs about aliens or something do you downvote that too? If something captivates me I will upvote it. This isn't a weed chatroom, not everything is supposed to be about marijuana. But thanks for the unnecessary downvote. Asshole.

Sat, 10/29/2011 - 11:05pm
Sat, 10/29/2011 - 11:06pm
StayPuft Says:
Sun, 10/30/2011 - 11:51am
Fri, 10/28/2011 - 1:30pm

dude highdeas isnt for strange narratives. U want this to be seen by someone who will take it seriously not by stoners who probably didnt have the time to read it.

Fri, 10/28/2011 - 1:37pm
StayPuft Says:
Sat, 10/29/2011 - 2:59am

ive been tryin to write like this for so long but after i get half way thru it all turns to crap tht was fuckin brilliant keep writing

Sat, 10/29/2011 - 8:01pm
StayPuft Says:

Thanks! Right now I'm finishing a two paragraph continuation of cask of amantillado by Edgar Allen Poe from Fortunato's point of view.

Sat, 10/29/2011 - 4:39am
Sat, 10/29/2011 - 6:24pm
vladyuzko Says:

i get it dude. Marijuana addiction? keeps stabbing your lungs.

you people need to just shut the fuck up. if you don't have anything nice to say then don't say anything.

Sat, 10/29/2011 - 7:35pm
StayPuft Says:

What? No. It's just a story I wrote while watching a documentary on Aztecs and thinking about how sacrificial victims who have no idea what the fuck they're doing there feel like. But put in modern times.

Sat, 10/29/2011 - 11:06pm

haha that's one way of interpreting it. very nice

Sun, 10/30/2011 - 11:53am
Fri, 11/04/2011 - 11:55pm

Brutal and depressing. So yeah, I like it.