(Winner of the understatement contest, my mother. I can feel panic heavy in my chest as I pull at the shackles and chains she has me strapped to the ceiling and floor with. Every metallic rattle sending shivers running up my spine. My abs and back feel extremely tight with the way my arms are stuck in a position that has them raised towards the ceiling above me. I can hear her pacing behind me. Each footstep sounding like a hammer pounding a nail into my coffin. The unknown is something all creatures great and small fear. It's one of the undisputed truths of existence. I'm no different. To most I am the unknown they fear, but even I have my limits. Eventually everyone finds fear.)

You are weak.

(Weak? What does she mean weak? It's moments like this I wonder if I'll ever measure up to her insane standards. Nothing I do is ever good enough for her. Half the time I'm not even sure she considers me to be her daughter. I'm just the "whelp". God I hate that name. Still I stay silent after her statement. No need to bring her wrath down upon me. I'm still pretty sure she would kill me without a second thought at any point over anything. I should just be happy she's taken enough interest in me to train me. I push away all these selfish thoughts and try to take in what she's trying to teach me. I turn my head slightly and manage to see her pull a kendo stick off rack of them on the wall. Why does that bring me no comfort?)

Quit thinking and just listen whelp. You are weak because you make yourself weak.

(I hear her tap the bamboo instrument of combat on the floor a couple of times as if testing its durablity.)

You have made strides in trying to reach your true self, but in the end you still hold back. You only pull your true nature to the surface in times of need or extreme anger. That's not enough. The rest of the time you deny who and what you are. That makes you no better than the living. No better than the society we shun.

(She pauses for a moment to let her words sink in. Maybe she's right. Maybe I am not better than those I detest. Though I've worked to embrace the darker aspects of my nature, the truer aspects, maybe I'm still lying to myself just like most of this world. If so, how can that be fixed? How can I shed this facade I wear? I fear she's about to show me.)

Time to bring out the real you.

(The words barely leave her lips before I feel something thick crack against my back with enough force that I lose my breath. I gasp and choke in my struggle for air. Pain sears through my back and vibrates out through my limbs. She steps close enough to where I can feel her breath on the back of my neck.)

You feel that? That's your weakness causing you pain child. Hold onto the sorrow it brings you and let the shock fade.

(She steps back and this time swings the kendo stick so hard I hear her grunt. I scream out in agony as it impacts against the bone and muscle in my back. The pain is so intense I want to pass out. I've never been hit so hard. Her strength is unreal. My eyes start to roll into the back of my head.)

Don't you pass out on me whelp!

(I'm snapped back to full consciousness as she lashes out at me again. This time I wonder if one of my ribs just broke in my back. My breathing is hard and raspy as I struggle to cope with what she's forcing me to endure. I just want this to end. Her tone harshes into a bitter, mocking tone that sounds both instructional and tormenting.)

You're pathetic. You worthless little bitch. Quit wasting my time.

(She cracks me again. I scream once more as I feel some of the flesh in my back split open. Warm moisture runs down my back. Blood. What is she doing? She's supposed to be my mother. How can she think so little of me? Part of me wants to cry over the emotional pain she's inflicting on me, but the rest of me won't allow it. I will not show that much weakness in front of her. Never. I grit my teeth together and prepare for another blow, but it doesn't come.)

You've clung to the sorrow, but where's your anger? I'm going to bring out the real you even if it means your destruction. So you'd better start getting angry whelp!

(Anger? She wants anger?! I'll give her anger. The only problem is that right now my fear and sorrow outweigh my anger. It makes it difficult to bring it forth. I hear her toss the stick to the floor. I look back to see her grab another one from the rack. My heart practically stops in my chest. She's pulled the one that has broken glass glued to every inch of it. My eyes go wide with terror.)

I'm tired of looking at this brooding little whelp in front of me. This whiny, pining little whore in front of me. Get angry god damnit! Let go. Show me my daughter...not this waste of a body that limps through life!

(Show her her daughter? What the fuck is that about? So she doesn't accept me, but if become what she wants me to be I am? I am unable to finish that thought process before it's cut off by her smashing the glass shard covered, kendo stick into my back at full force. I cry out in unimaginable agony before she rips it out of my back, taking some of the flesh with it. My back is on fire. I'm not sure which hurts worse, the beating I'm taking physically, or the one I'm taking emotionally. I can feel my anger sparking to life. I can feel bitterness and hatred trying to fuel it into a raging inferno. I grip the chains as she hits me again. This time I only grunt. I won't cry out for her again. I won't give her that satisfaction.)

Good, I can see it in your eyes. I can smell your rage. Feed it. Hold onto your hatred. Let both stay with you. Cling to them. Hold them to your heart and never let them fade. They are part of your very essence. Now dig deeper.

(Repeatedly I feel the blunt object strike my back as the hungry shards of glass nip at my flesh like a pack of rabid wolves. My stomach churns as my bitterness and hatred urge my rage to new heights within. She hits me again. I don't feel any pain. I just feel that something impacted me and tore up my back. It means nothing. My veins burn as I feel darkness pump through them. My insides flood with it. My neck tilts to the side and cracks. She hits me again. Still nothing.

I feel the muscles in my face move to form a toothy sneer as something gurgles forth from deep down. At first I'm not sure what it is. My body begins to convulse at the shoulders. A sound lurches forward and rises from me, forcing my mouth open as the maniacal laughter spills from me in waves. My chains rattle chaotically as I struggle against them while laughing. She stops hitting me and moves around to my front. A weird, tainted smile spreads across her features. I yank down hard. The chain hooked to my right arm rips from the wall sending a thick cloud of dust scattering into the air. The chain falls to the ground in a heap. I lash forward with my arm and grip her by the throat. I begin to squeeze with all my might. My laughter fading before my sneering smirk follows it into nothingness. She just smiles wider as I strangle her. She grabs my wrist and pries my hand from her throat, almost with ease. I can see my hand print on her throat.)

There's my daughter.