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Hello, Mr. Lion - Part 3

Hello, Mr. Lion - Part 3

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Published by Michael V. Waechter
Waking to find himself trapped in a cage and put on display for figures known as the "watchers," a brutal killer plots his grisly revenge as each day brings him closer to freedom and deeper into a psychotic breakdown. Published through Amazon and CreateSpace, now on Kindle!
Waking to find himself trapped in a cage and put on display for figures known as the "watchers," a brutal killer plots his grisly revenge as each day brings him closer to freedom and deeper into a psychotic breakdown. Published through Amazon and CreateSpace, now on Kindle!

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Published by: Michael V. Waechter on Mar 02, 2011
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved

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05/06/2012

 
      
 
  
 Day 10:
 
There’s something extra special about the meat from a
 
young animal. It’s very tender. The best eating is meat
from an animal that has never walked. A newborn isunable to walk because of underdeveloped muscles.The muscles are very light and spongy. The bones aresoft. As a newborn ages, calcium deposits strengthen thebones and harden them. The animal begins to walk. Themoment it takes its first step, the muscles are spoiled.
 
They start to build and become tougher. The more it
walks, the tougher the muscle… the tougher the meat.
  You can almost consider me a connoisseur when it
comes to meat. I’ve eaten much of it i
n my lifetime. Ieat it so much that
I’ve been called a carnivore at times.
I like young meat. I like it fresh. I like it unspoiled. Ilike it tender. 
The meat I’m fed here
is shit. I almost vomit when theypush it in front of me. They feed me bits of scrapsripped off of some creature
that I can’t identify… it’slike I’m a fucking animal. The fucking things
musthave been ancient when they died. The meat is likewood. Despite being cold, it tastes like it baked in thesun for days. I choke it down to avoid starvation. Thosein charge of my rehabilitation, the trainers, think thewhole thing is funny. I hear them joking. They love it
those fuckers. 
 
 
I’ve been trapped in my ce
ll for over a week at this
point. I’ve been extremely patient all this time. I’ve
barely slept, keeping a watchful eye on all that goes on.
I’m tired, and I’m hungry.
There must be a way to
escape, and I’ve been determined to find it.
Every timethe assholes chain me before meals, I pray that theyforget to turn the lock. All through lunch and allthrough dinner I subtly yank on the chains when they
aren’t looking. Every time the lock is
secure. My patience has been giving away to anger. Thefucking faces of the watchers are everywhere now, and
the taunting becomes crueler. They’re eating pop
cornnow while they stare at me.
They’re eating fuckingpopcorn! It’s written on the side of colorful boxesthey’ve been carrying with them! I walk around my cel
l
starving, and they’re munching on fucking snacks.
They even throw it at me. The pieces hit the bars of my
cell and fall just outside my reach. They think it’s
funny. They know nothing. As the watchers continue to laugh and joke and throw
things at me, I continue to test the bars. I’ve devised a
certain method that allows me to test the strength of every bar while appearing random. There are 26 barstotal. I counted them. I shake bar number one in the topleft corn
er of my cell. It doesn’t budge. I smile for the
watchers. I pace a little. I go to the right side of my cell.
I shake bar number 26. It doesn’t budge. I continueuntil every bar is checked… 5… 16… 21… 25… 10…7… the same order as yesterday… the same order 
 tomorrow. The fucking bitches love it when I rattle abar.
They don’t know what I’m really doing. They think I’m dumb. They think I’m just a co
ld-blooded killer.They know nothing. 

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