Moths on a Deer (Part I

Moths on a Deer

( Part I )

“I’m sure the network is milking this…”

—Another woman went missing, following the disappearances of three I said to the camera. I’m a 25 year-old female news reporter for a small network. Though this case is nowhere as big as the news of Kris Aquino getting a haircut, I personally requested my superiors to give me and only me this case for I know, if somehow, I cracked this myself, I’d make a name for myself and actually be able to move to a giant network out there. Heck, they’d give me my own show if that happens. Over the past two months, four young women, ranging from ages 15 to 22 have gone missing. I am ashamed to admit that, inwardly, I hoped more will follow. I poked my nose to every investigation regarding this matter and found that the kidnappers, we now know that they were kidnapped, are actually genuinely stupid. I also found that, the police are ridiculously even bigger idiots because even though we now have fingerprints, blood and saliva — why the fuck would you purposely leave your DNA in a crime scene? — they still can’t figure out who they are. I’m beginning to believe that someone powerful and extremely creepy is behind all these. And surprise, I was right. Now, I regret that I hoped someone would follow because I ended up in the trunk of a car. Yep, your reporter went missing herself, well, it’s not like I’m famous, but it makes for a good story and I’m sure the network is milking this shit while this is happening to me. You could be wondering why I seemed cool with this, well, that’s because I lived. I just spoiled that for you, didn’t I? But keep on reading. So, I felt a car stop and someone opened

the trunk I was in, and boy was he weird. He was wearing a wolf skin over his upper body. He could have worn a regular ‘bad guy mask’, why choose real wolf skin? PETA will give this dude such a hard time when they found out about this. Behind him is a woman who does not look like a woman. Now, I may not seem like it to you, but I am really scared at this point. They dragged me out of the trunk and I saw two more men waiting near the door of a creepy building. I didn’t realize I was crying until the fat guy went near the door. —Oh, you guys made our deer cry! Then he looked at me with incredible amount of lust and hunger. They dragged me inside the building and it looked like a warehouse full of kink, which it isn’t, because it’s actually a bed room full of kink. Three men and two women were doing it on a bed that’s four times the size of mine. One of the men was blind folded, tied with black ropes to the head of the bed and was bleeding from almost every inch of his body while another is doing it to his wienie. I thought they were torturing him, but he suddenly smiled. He moaned after he was whipped by a woman, fresh blood oozed out of his new wound. Over and over again, whip by whip, he moaned with ecstasy visible on his face. The woman holding the whip had an even bigger smile. She was laughing the whole time saying, —Who’s my bitch? —I am! the man replied over and over again. The people who dragged me in injected me something and suddenly, I fell to the floor. I was conscious, I can feel, hear, see and smell but I couldn’t move a muscle. Then, one big guy lifted me up and hung me to a hook attached to the ceiling through the cuffs on my wrist. Fear swept over me for I know what they will do to me. All those in the room cheered in unison. The five people on the bed got up and walk towards me, all wearing these creepy grins on their faces. I recognized one of them, he is incredibly

rich. Apparently he paid the police to mess up the investigation. So, I was right. I’d interviewed him once before but he didn’t seem to recognize me which means this kidnapping was not premeditated. A woman kissed me and I smelt alcohol and whatever drug she took in her breath. They ripped my clothes off, hungrily tearing my dignity apart but I was wearing jeans. —Try to rip that, bitch! I tried to shout but I only managed a faint whisper. Nails dug into my skin. It felt like they wanted to take those off too. A short moment later, I was completely naked, my feet dangling half a foot from the floor. The same woman kissed me and this time, she angrily stuck her tongue into my mouth, swirling it around inside doing a thumb wrestling with my tongue, except, you know, with her tongue. I felt warm hands around my waist coming from behind. —Awoo! he said and bit my left ear. —Fuck off! I’ll do her first! The man backed away and I saw him, from the corner of my eye, took a green capsule. They took turns doing me —raping, whipping, punching, cutting, biting, burning and electrocuting me. Each turn lasted for forever. I cried for help and there was a point when I managed a, —Please kill me. —You can’t die, this still ain’t as fun as it can go. It seemed like they’ve said it many times before. I drifted off of and to consciousness. Every time waking to the same horror I was in. All the tears I could give dried up an eternity ago. I lost hope. I lost faith. I looked up and asked God why he’d let me suffer like this. Then, a realization hit me: I can now, somehow move. The drug in my blood is wearing off. I regained all the hopes that I lost. A few more hours in this nightmare, the beasts finally got tired and took a slumber in their shells. This is my chance. I acted unconscious for several more minutes. Each second lasts an eternity. I looked up, everyone’s asleep now. They were all naked and defenseless. I see where everyone and everything are.

Now, I don’t know how to get off of these cuffs. I’ve swung back and forth, shook like a blender but there’s no way I can get off doing those. They’ve thought this through. After all the pain I’ve been through, was it a little bit more? I pulled down with my left hand, the edge of the metal cuff grinding against slowly, painfully, the skin of my hand began to peel off, blood showering down to my face. I pulled harder. A loud crack echoed in the room as my bones break. I fell to the floor, soundless, cuffs still on my right wrist. I looked at my left hand, a blanket of skin dangled from my fingertips. I yanked it off. I rolled on the floor in absolute pain, making no sound. What’s left of my left hand was pointed broken bones and freshly cut bacon. I stood up, walked towards their clothes and scavenged through it. Sweating, their clothes saturated with my blood, I finally found what I was looking for. There was three more of the drug they injected me. There were nine of them. Carefully, I injected every single one of them a third of what’s in the syringes. To make sure the drug worked, I grabbed a knife and slap the smallest one of them to wake him up. I’d stab him if he is able to move. He opened his eyes. Three seconds later, the look of waking turned to look of horror. The drug works but it’ll only probably last a third of the time it worked on me, I don’t know. I tried to drag them close to each other because I plan to tie them up but they were too heavy so I hacked all their arms and legs to lighten them. It was agonizing. I know. No one could relate more. They are now side by side, bodies twitching, eyes begging for more. I can see joy in their faces. These people are just so messed up. I took a seat in front of them, smiled and watched them die slowly and painfully. I was telling them the story of how my brother lost his teeth while playing golf —It was hilarious, I’m telling you— when the last of them finally died. In her last few seconds, she fixated her eyes on mine, with the same grin she always had. If I hadn’t waved my good hand in front of me and got no response, I would have believed she’s still alive. I grabbed one of their cellphones and dialed a number I’ve memorize since I became a reporter. —Good morning, Sir. I have a story to tell you.

lost and not found

On June 26, 2006, Karen Empeño, 22, a UP student who was doing research on the plight of Bulacan farmers, was seized by gunmen in Hagonoy, Bulacan. With her were Sherlyn Cadapan and Manuel Marino. After years of search, the students’ mothers filed criminal charges, including torture and rape, against retired Maj. Gen. Jovito Palparan. Latter denied having a hand in the disappearances. Farmer Raymond Manalo, an escapee from military detention, testified that he and his brother, as well as Cadapan, Empeño and Merino, were all tortured. Convinced by the the testimony, the court directed the military on Sept. 17, 2008, to free the students and Merino. It said there was “clear and credible evidence that the three persons” were “being detained in military camps and bases under the 7th Infantry Division.”