Negativity Culmination

As much as Grountin mostly disagreed with the morality behind the majority of his supposedly much-needed discipline, he was not remiss to everybody else feeling that the reasons were justified. However, even that changed.

When Grountin's father lost his job, he was livid.

"Grountin, I know you did something wrong! You always do! Tell me what it is so I can whip ya, boy!" he thundered throughout the hallways of the house.

Grountin honestly, non-chalantly replied, "I don't know."

"That's a lie, boy! Now you've earned a- Hhhnnnnn yyaaaahhhh! Couple hundred more of those will teach you to lie!" he yelled somewhat incoherently.

Soon enough, Grountin's dad treated whipping his son like it was a full-time job. This was sadly tolerable, but then his sister was dumped by the man she loved.

She screamed, "I hate men! All of you! Except you, daddy. Grountin! You're a man, and not like daddy, so you deserve this! Haaaa-aaauughhhh! That's right! Take it like a man!"

His father and his sister began to have arguments over whose turn it was to whip Grountin on a near daily basis. They finally compromised weeks later and whipped him together as father-daughter time. Grountin could recall the happenstance his dad taught his sibling better whipping form.

"It's all in the wrist," his father mentioned while demonstrating. "Hhhnnnn-yaaaahhh!"

His sister scoffed, "Everybody says that about everything, daddy. Haaaa-aaughhhh! How was that?"

"Very good, little lady!" her father responded with pride. "How was that, Grountin?"

"Painful," Grountin muttered morosely before his whippers broke into a fit of laughter, holding one arm around each other.

Grountin's mother witnessed a few father-daughter whipping sessions and became jealous. It was not fair that her favorite child was steadily being taken from her. There was only one logical recourse: to treat her other child differently.

She shouted, "How dare you let them whip you together like that! Hhhhhi-unnnnhh! She's my daughter, too! Hhhhi-unnnh! I want my daughter and husband back!"

Grountin informed his father of the recent developments. After being whipped for tattling, Grountin was sent to the general store to buy two more whips from the punishment aisle; an aisle that only existed once school whippings became so popular, that the original whip started fraying. Mother, father, and daughter amalgamated to reconcile, then, each with a whip in hand, punished Grountin for being two seconds late.

"I said seven o'clock on the dot, didn't I honey?" his dad asked, grinning alongside his two fellow whippers.

Grountin's mother reassured him, "I don't think you did, sugar, but it was implied. Let bygones be bygones."

"Trust me, daddy. He deserves it!" his sibling smirked.

Taking turns was too inconvenient, so the three family whips were used simultaneously more often than not. Anytime two whips would get tangled into a loose knot, the two unraveling it would share a giggle as the third temporarily covered for them. It was the worst pain Grountin ever experienced; at that particular time.

At school, a brand new psychology teacher had just been hired. In one morning, she was appalled at the behavior of both faculty and students regarding Grountin's discipline.

"It's not just wrong. It's horrible! It's despicable!" she raised her voice in the principal's office.

The principal smiled at her, pulled from his desk a permission slip that stated allowance of whips to be used on Grountin was granted by his parents, then casually remarked, "If you're not okay with this, we can hire somebody else and you can find another job. Your lack of experience will be a hindrance, but I'm confident you'll find a way to succeed."

By the end of the afternoon, the new educator handed her supervisor a paper that made clear her future intent and the changes she had been forced to make to ensure its longevity.

"I'm sorry, but it's over. I decided enough is enough," she whispered sullenly.

The next day, first thing in the dawn upon arrival, Grountin saw the entire student body and faculty waiting outside looking at him.

"Grountin," his new psychology mentor spoke serenely to him, "we don't see you cry despite all the whipping. That seems psychologically unhealthy. I propose that we whip you until you can shed a tear. Letting it out might help with your depression."

The crowd roared in excitement. It had been years since anybody had witnessed Grountin weep.

She hollered with glee, "Who wants to see how long it will take to make him cry?!" The response was ecstatic. "Line up boy/girl/boy/girl. Streaks are allowed to continue. Staff, I invite you all to help. Let's whip those tears out!"

Several hours, dozens of participants panting, a braggart attempting to garner credit for nine blue sparks in a row, and an abysmally ruptured outfit later, Grountin was still being whipped because he had yet to feel the need to cry.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt! Hee hee hee!" the psych teacher, master of this ceremony, commented uproariously. "Come on, Grountin. We all know you're a little wuss anyway, so why are you trying to act tough now? Just be a big crybaby already!"

His friends laughed, then one said, "It's true! I remember eleven years ago, he bawled like a baby!"

Everybody chuckled at the thought of seven-year-old Grountin crying from being whipped; everybody but Grountin, that is.

Two hours past the last bell at school, everyone present, including Grountin, was either excessively exhausted or deeply annoyed.

"Hurry up!" the newly recruited science staff member cried.

The principal grabbed his phone from his pocket while stating, "I have an idea."

Minutes later, Grountin's self-proclaimed family arrived at the scene to save the day.

"He responds more to multiple whips at once," his mother explained peacefully. "We brought quite a few, but you still have to share. If they get entangled, move to the side so nobody else has to stop."

This was the first instance of whipping during which Grountin could not tell how many whips were being thrusted upon his body. Blue bolts emanated from him with every collective percussive strike of the whips.

The psychology teacher beamed with pride whilst watching Grountin grimace, "Look! He's really going to do it! He's going to break real soon like a little girl!"

The majority of the onlookers and whippers cracked smiles based on what observations they heard echoing through the sound system from the experiment proctor. It seemed that all of their hard work was soon to achieve the intended goal. Grountin's threshhold could not persist any longer and they all knew it.

Grountin was thoroughly miserable. Blue electricity cracked as the particpants smiles cracked as the myriad of whips cracked. He wondered if he could fake tears at this point. For a moment, he tried, but ceased after realizing that he was too used to hating life. If anything could bring him to tears, he had yet to experience it.

"Why me?" Grountin pondered internally amidst the intense pain.

He struggled to keep standing, considering how many hours had already elapsed and how many people aimed too low to reach his back. While wincing with each hit, he looked around himself and saw the overjoyed ruckus of all those he knew proceed as planned by the one person who briefly empathized with him before turning traitor.

He began uncontrollably heaving, feeling like he may lose conciousness or his mind; unsure which possibility was scarier. Lightning bounced between his fingertips every so often. He debated whether to grab somebody- no, too extreme- a whip just to see what would happen. "How's that for a science experiment? Hahaha!" he chuckled in his head.

They were relentless. Weaker students handed their whips to stronger ones or adults when it became their turn. Some of the girls started a chant: "Let's make Grountin become a fountain!" Soon all of the whippers, including the adults joined in belting it rhythmically-spaced between whip cracks.

"Wow! What a trooper!" the lady with the microphone entertainingly remarked. "He is really letting us enjoy ourselves, isn't he, folks?"

Grountin's lip began to quiver. The crowd leaned inward to detect tears more easily. Then Grountin busted out laughter, sounding like a hyena.

"Okay. That was weird," mentioned his traitorous teacher. "Keep going! We'll get a proper reaction soon enough."

Apparently, everybody present was too busy looking for tears or prescisely swinging their arms to notice the blue stain adorn Grountin's exposed back. It had the same tone as a large bruise, but came accompanied with bubbles popping from his skin, like a chemical reaction releasing abundant gas. Each whip strike accentuated the various ongoing effects, making sure that they never disappeared, but became more violent in the process. It was if Grountin's maximum threshhold exceeded the capacity of his body. He began moving in the way somebody trying to withhold urinating might, knowing that he was about to burst. Suddenly...

"That's enough!" Grountin thundered as a bright blue blaze erupted from his being, scattering those closest to him for fear of their lives ending abruptly.