This Page in Portuguese, Serbian
A public lynching would be far too kind for the despicable creature who hurt you. Let’s for a moment let our minds run wild to determine exactly what punishment would be fitting.
We could start by dragging him before court. Let his accusers point the finger. Let chills run through him as they scream their accusations. In fact, just for fun, let’s make it three courts – one trial after another after another. That should raise his blood pressure. But it in no way settles the score.
Hire professional thugs. With the vilest language, they spit on him; demeaning their human plaything, while beating him with their fists. Here’s an idea: have him blindfolded so that he waits in terror, never knowing when or from where the next sickening blow will come from. Make him reel! More! More! Finally, he’s utterly broken. He’s sobbing uncontrollably, tears flooding down his bloodied face, longing for mercy. This is fun! “You’re not so tough now!” you laugh. “What’s the matter, big boy? Can’t take a little pain? Go on – grovel at my feet! Writhe like the worm you are!” You are grinning from ear to ear.
But we need some instrument that inflicts more pain than fists. A whip? The thugs rip off his clothes and lash his naked back. Whack! He screams as the whip mercilessly tears through his skin. Whack! The whip cruelly digs in, ripping out more flesh. Whack! Scream. Don’t weaken. Fire up your rage. What mercy did he have when he ruined your life? Whack! Whack! Whack! Now you’ve got him where you want him. He’s cringing in pain; a sobbing, bloodied wreck. You’re laughing hysterically. Whack! Whack! Flay his flesh! Whack! Whack! Whack! . . .
Oh, no! He’s lost consciousness. Drench him with water. Shake him. Slap him around. Great! He’s conscious again! Whack! Whimper. Whack! Whimper. Whack! Whack! . . . Keep it up! More!
Rats! You can’t keep him conscious any longer. You’ll have to wait a couple hours until he comes around again. That will give you more time to dream up new horrors.
At last! He’s conscious again! You sneer in disgust. “It’s pay back time, vermin!” Jerk him to his feet. “Your day of reckoning has come!” Parade him through the busy streets, with everyone knowing he’s a condemned criminal. Incite the mobs to expel their venom on him, hissing and cursing and despising him. He drops to the ground. Belt him until he staggers up again and stumbles on. A few more steps and he’s down again. Another wonderful opportunity to swat this lowlife! Finally the thugs have to drag him.
Now strip him naked. Shamefully naked. Fully exposed; humiliated in front of the gawking, piercing, critical eyes of crowds of laughing, jeering women and men and children. We need some new instrument of torture; something that will make every second sheer hell but will keep him alive minute after never-ending minute, hour after endless hour. Make the tiniest movement – every breath – a source of torment, while he remains fully exposed, with every shred of decency stripped from him, for the sneering crowds to continue to gloat. Pin him out like a captured bug on public display, with no where to hide his shame, no rock to slither under, as the world stares wide-eyed. The crowds are teasing and slandering him, yet something is still missing. I know: the sickening stench of this vermin’s offense has reached high heaven. Almighty God must be furious at what this degenerate did to you. Has injustice ever fired uncontrollable rage within you? That is but a breath relative to the terrifying tornado of divine wrath at that injustice. If a mouse is angry, you can snigger; if a grizzly bear is angry, you can fear; but if the Almighty is angry, there is no human emotion to express the chilling terror that rips through its victim. Every conceivable scale of sheer dread is exploded by this horror. The Judge of all humanity – the God who flung the flaming stars in space – storms down torrent upon torrent of his fearsome fury on this pathetic excuse for a man.
In a sense, it would be exquisite to keep this torture up forever, but earth should be rid of this contemptible beast. More important still, you need closure so that at last you can get on with life. Otherwise, like a deadly cancer, lust for revenge will eat your insides, slowly destroying you. So finally his body slumps in death.
Now grab a long blade and have your final fling. Vent your wrath on his corpse. Plunge through to his heart, mutilating that lifeless organ. Yes! He’s dead! Savor that word:
(You have just read the milder version of the beginning of Sweet Revenge.
The above link takes you to the remainder of that significant webpage.)