Jack the Ripper
With so many rivers at hand, drowning now ceased to amaze him. So he learned how to use the rope. It did not give him much pleasure, but he took what he could and moved on.
Red-faced and squatting before the remains of his last victim, he was caught a century ago. His captors cut off his bloody hands which were smeared with the torn flesh of the newborn he had devoured. Then they cauterized his eyes with a welding torch.
Torture was inflicted one day at a time, but nobody dared kill him lest he would be reborn in another time and place where no one could recognize the mark of the beast on his wrist where his pulse was.
They called him Jack, and he was never left alone since.
People from around the world flocked to the small town of Bardenstan, where Jack’s prison cell was located. He could be viewed through a wide porthole after paying twenty dollars to the Ticketmaster at the gate.
Three physicians worked round the clock to nurture him with an IV feed, to check his vital signs, and to administer the torture which was televised twice a week during primetime. He was flogged, sodomized, castrated, scalded, etc. All in the name of peace.
His screams of pain comforted the world. It was recorded and played on the radio. Children were lulled to sleep by it. Parables were written about him.
Everybody felt safe.
