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Sackless Jack Saves Christmas For The Carmelite Kids the nullification was a nightmare the plasticity of time, hours stretched like warm taffy, creating a veritable hell. chained to the furnace as I was the six foot by six foot square of basement floor became my bed, my bathroom, my dinner plate my entire world. the master appeared occasionally offering words of encouragement between systematic beatings. he made me crawl on broken beer bottles because he said he loves me. to prove my love for him the master stretched a rubber band around my testicles, twisting and wrapping until my scrotum swelled and throbbed and I screamed and begged. agony constant as the cinder block walls and filthy floor. the master told me how special I was to him, how he loved me best and I cried and moaned and kissed his outstretched hand. my thoughts scattered like flies disturbed from their meal of shit. of course he loved me. why else invest the time and energy into making me perfect? the plasticity of time, days before my balls finally went numb and the pangs of starvation replaced my testicular suffering. the master returned with smiles fondling my balls like rotten plums. I couldn't feel his fingers. they'll fall off on their own, the master told me. a quick flick of the razor will nullify the rest and then I'll be perfect. I want to be perfect. in the concrete darkness I dream, and when I dream I dream of returning to the Carmelite Home For Boys, a home for boys without homes. it's Christmas and I arrive with sacks of toys. I come with lovely words and tell them they are all wanted somewhere someone wants them all.
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