1 Name: Anonymous : 2008-07-15 13:36 [Del]
Part I – My Silent Captor
July, and it’s wet and cold. Christ, the fucking weather in this country couldn’t make its mind up even if its mother was being threatened at gunpoint. Let the bitch die I say, it couldn’t even bring up a decent child.
I’m a corporate drone. I work 9-5 like a good boy, all innocent and giving; giving to this leeching society. Life, as I see it, is simply a limbo between conception and death. Everything you do is barely worth the trouble. Why would you work anyway? Is it to get some form of self accomplishment in life, or to help others after you? Fuck, I couldn’t give a shit. If you die, what is self accomplishment worth? Fuck all. Hell, if it speeds up this process, I’ll try anything once, and once is all I need.
There are three people that live in my apartment. Two of whom I know well and am unfortunate enough to run into every morning. Happy go-getters that act as if they have no idea what’s coming to get them. The third is an interesting one. Moved in last week and I’m yet to meet her. Strange as I have that uncommon humanly charm that attracts the very people I hate yet pushes the people I like away. Wait, who am I kidding? I hate everyone. But one must put on that façade, turning you into the person you hate.
Walking through the gate I notice that there is no light coming from the doorway, something I confirm upon swiping my card key at the front door. It doesn’t work. As if my day couldn’t get any better. Stepping back, I see that Luca has left his window open. He’s an innocent guy, but stupid, and ignorant. No doubt he’s out partying with college girls, using his half-Italian charm to entice them further into his grasp. Climbing through his window I get that scent of vanity that Luca emanates like a walking deodorant can. His room reeks of that cheap aftershave men buy in order to drown out their true smell; Desperation of a society that thrives on sex, drugs, and rock and roll. ‘Fit in, and be popular – A Facebook country’.
I avoid the clothes sprawled on the floor and make for the door. The only light in the hallway is the dim glow of the setting sun piercing through the thick clouds of this town. Each object projects a thick shadow on the wall. Wait. No, there’s another source as well. A flickering and orange glow, caught in my periphery, making the shadows dance. It’s coming from inside the house.
“Hello?” – I don’t normally call out, but then again, this is a situation where I’d like to at least know what’s going on. I get no reply. This leads me to deduce that Jess isn’t in. Jess is a lot like Luca. A go-getter, but she has her subtleties. Jess is one to reply instantly to callings throughout the house. I think she craves the attention. Something that shows when I talk to her in person when I peer down to her left arm. It’s covered in marks from self-abuse. Abuse can do all sorts of things to the human mind. It can either destroy it, or augment one’s feelings towards life. I believe Jess was hit with a revelation and decided that she would no longer be quiet. I appreciate it somewhat, but certainly not enough to care about her.
So, Luca and Jess aren’t in. Unless one of them left some candles on in the bathroom, it could only be the ‘new girl’. I walk up the stairs slowly, hoping she didn’t hear me initially call out. As I reach the top of the stairs, the glow gets stronger. The corner of the landing had dimmed the light as it was absorbed by the matt paint on the wall. Turning my head around the landing, I spot the source of the light. The girl’s door was slightly open. It’s that kind of open that just begs a passer-by to peek in. I think she wants me to look in. As I walk closer, I slow down, trying to listen out for any sounds of movement in the room. By this time I’m only a foot away from the door. My curiosity is all of a sudden getting the better of me as I slowly push the door open. I hope to hell that it doesn’t squeak, thus adding to the stealth of my little recon.
Still, I hear no sound or movement.
The flicker of the candles catches the focus of my eyes this time round. I count them. I count 23 in total. Going from left to right; there’s one on each bed post, six on the chest of drawers, five on the mantle of the fireplace, and eight on the window sill. Unfortunately, the landlord thought it would be funny to cut corners, which is why the fireplace only consists of a small gas heater.
Her room is identical to mine. If the room was a rectangle, and the door was on the bottom right hand side, the bed would be central to the left hand side of the bedroom, there is a small en suite on the top left of the room, while the chest of drawers is top centre. You can work out the rest.
What interests me more is that each candle glows a slightly different colour of red. They glow from a deep scarlet to a dark maroon. They’re like a scale of blood, from life to death. For the first time, I’m awe-struck by the beauty of this room. It’s calling out to me, like a siren of the sea. I can’t stop myself from walking in, taking another step into this scarlet heaven. The bed looks like it hasn’t been slept in for days. There isn’t a cover, but the sheets are neatly tucked under the mattress.
As I take that last step into the room, I finally hear what I wanted. From behind me I hear the door slam shut; Clever girl. I didn’t hear a thing; Very clever. But before I can turn my head to see my captor, I find myself being hit over the head with a large object. As I lose the control of my muscles, my vision leaves my body, and I feel myself crash against the hard floor. The pain of my muscles crushing against my bones rattles through the right side of my body. Before I can see the face of this mystery, I black out.
What a clever girl.
I awake.
The first thing I get is a searing pain in my head. The back of my skull feels wet with the blood caused by the near fatal crash of that unknown object. I’m dizzy. My head spins, more and more as I slowly open my eyes. I can’t see. I’m not blind, but I can’t see. Everything is red, and it’s not the ominous glow of the candles. By this time, the light from outside had died completely. How long was I unconscious? As I look around, I hear that deadly silence. Even now, this mysterious girl makes her presence in this very room thinner than air; like a tiger scouting its prey, waiting for that opportune moment to pounce. Where are you my tigress?
I try to move but something is stopping me. As I begin to get less dizzy, I notice I’m on that tidy bed, face down, and totally naked. I’m not even wearing my watch. That feeling you get used to from wearing one has gone, and I’m left feeling nothing but emptiness. As I try to move more all I feel is a searing pain; that kind of pain when you accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife while preparing food. The pain that only really hurts when you notice you’ve cut yourself. I notice this pain. My arms and legs are fixed. The more I try to move, the more it hurts. What the fuck has she tied me up with? I squint and try to focus through this red. The rope is shiny, and solid. Even through this thick cloud of scarlet I can see the silver glow as it reflects the light from the now shorter candles. All along this hard and shiny rope are twists of wire. Oh, the clever girl. Only someone as sadistic as her could use this tool of punishment. Barbed wire, it seems, has many uses.
My stomach hurts.
Like a monkey in a test lab, I soon learn that struggling won’t get me anywhere, and is what she wants. She wants me to struggle; to panic. But I will give her no such satisfaction, and therefore lie motionless on this bed, breathing softly as to increase my hearing senses for her. I still hear nothing.
What is this?
My left hand has been placed closer to my face than my right. It is well within my now reduced focus, but I can make out a small cylindrical object lodged between my middle and index fingers. Held like a cigarette, but will unfortunately give me no such relief to the pain of the barbs piercing my wrists and ankles. My stomach still hurts.
Reminded of my school years, it doesn’t take me long to notice that it’s a fountain pen ink cartridge. It’s completely empty, but the ink has laced the insides, coated in a strong red tint. Blindfolds, it seems, are so last year. Red ink is so much more effective. Hindering the prey’s eyes to near useless, but giving them enough sight to see their attackers. Giving me the cartridge is her idea of foreplay. My tigress is telling me I’m her prey. And she’s my stalker. Like the cat that plays with the mouse before maiming it.
I hear a sound…
Finally! A small scuffle catches the attention of my left ear as I’m inspecting this unorthodox eye-drop dispenser. I jerk my head slightly to the direction of the sound, but I see nothing. In the corner of the room least lit by the candles, I try to focus on a dark and blurry shape. She’s thought this through very well. She knows I can’t see her, and expects me to be frustrated. She’s right.
She wants me to panic, but I still refuse to give in to her demands. I look in her general direction and give her a smile, shortly followed by a wink. I don’t have to speak as she knows what I’m saying.
“You want me, come get me, bitch”.
I can tell I’ve hit a nerve as the indistinct shadow begins to move more erratically. As if she’s now the one starting to panic. Her prey won’t go down so easily, and the predator is running out of vantage points. Or perhaps this is what she wants. Perhaps she wants a fight, not that I can give much of one being tied up, but a fight nonetheless. Like a fox trapped in a corner. The valiant prey sustains its dignity in its hour of need.
My stomach, it hurts.
The shadow now moves towards me. I smirk with the thought that I will finally be able to see the face of my captor. However, as she moves closer my smirk turns into a frown when I realize she’s thought too carefully about this. Like a butterfly, she elegantly floats through the room, missing the light hotspots where the candles flicker, keeping in the shadows just enough to stay out of vision. Like a ballet dancer, it’s routine for her.
As she disappears from my periphery, I jolt to the right forgetting about my sharp shackles, cutting deep into my flesh I let out a small moan from the pain. Damn, I’m giving her what she wants. I must be careful. My stomach is starting to sear now. There is something under it, causing this pain, but I still don’t know what it is.
She’s a ghostly shadow, with no past or future, only now, in this room.
Before I can jerk my head the other way, I feel what I’ve wanted to feel this whole time, stranded on this island. Her hands are as soft as silk, as they slowly run up my right leg. Her touch is so light that I can barely feel her.
The bed creaks as she climbs on. Oh, she’s clever. Now in a position to which I couldn’t possibly see, she moves forward and sits on my lower back. It’s now that I know what I’m laying on. That sheet was a lie. It hid a secret the same way make up hides a woman’s insecurities. Four bed springs are lodged in my chest. As she places more weight on my back, these springs dig into my chest, drawing blood as I hear the pop of the skin as they pierce me. I let out a voiceless moan; breathe a pant of desperation. This girl’s good. Oh, she’s very good.
She leans over my back and rests her naked body on me. Her head is inches from my eyes and yet I still can’t see her. The touch of her skin upon mine almost burns. Hot with fury or with lust, yet not a drop of sweat is on her, just raw heat that radiates from her body. I can tell that my hidden temptress is enjoying every moment of it. As I try to move, she grabs my arms and claws at me, digging her sharp nails into my skin. I tense up as the pain begins to settle around my torso. She knows she’s beginning to win. As the nails dig deeper into my flesh, she moves closer to my left ear, biting it softly; I can barely feel her teeth on my skin. But I can feel something in her mouth. My ear isn’t the only thing she’s biting. Before I can think what it is, she jerks her head and slices my ear lobe clean off.
The pain is unbearable for that split second as I let out a more audacious moan, but I hold it in as much as I can. Her happiness grows as she causes me this pain, I can feel it. It was a scalpel in her mouth. Her choice of instrument shows she’s got a delicate hand; a hand I would like to feel in action.
Fight.
By this time I am no longer happy being the prey. I don’t give up the fight this easily. Biting my lip, I begin to pull at my chains. Tensing my arms up, I try to pull against the wire, and against the pain. She notices me trying to escape this trap and tries to stop me. As the blood from my right wrist starts to drench the bed, I can feel her readying her attack. In preparation, I tense my entire body up, but this is something my silent nurse wants.
The cut starts. She takes the scalpel and stabs me in the right shoulder. I scream from the pain, but no one hears me. Only she hears me, but that’s what she wants. I try to think of something else, something to take the pain out of my mind, but everything I can possibly use as a weapon against this searing gets countered by her willingness to see me suffer. Bursting into flames go every thought I have, only adding to the pain I already feel. This witch has done this before; almost like practice to the real thing. I can see it now; walking down the street, her face hidden from view as she sticks to the shadows, eyeing up potential victims like a hawk circling the sky, getting ready for the big dive.
As she pulls out the knife, she starts to slice, drawing a line from my shoulder, slowly, down to my elbow. I can feel the blood trickling down my arms, and the pain begins to sear, taking my mind off the shackle cuts, only for a moment. This time, I don’t try to block out the pain, but I embrace it. The more I think about the pain in my arm, the less it stings. But the hawk notices my control; my unwillingness to give in so quickly. Leaning over to my arm, she sticks her tongue into my long gash and slowly licks down the trench she’s just cut. This pain I cannot ignore. The hawk clasps onto her prey.
I stop pulling at my tight chains and loosen up. I can feel that sense of pride on her as she realizes she’s on the brink of winning this fight. Moving ever closer to my body, the hawk lets go of the knife, still stuck in my arm. Her hands clasp the side of the bed as I feel her body draw closer to mine; tightening; squeezing me like a paper press, only this press digs deep into my stomach. I cough from the lack of breath as this demon on top of me squeezes even tighter. I lose my breath once more and drift slowly into darkness.
Satisfied with her efforts to subdue me further, she moves back to her sitting position on my back, and pulls the knife from my arm. The prey is down, as the hawk loosens her grip.
She is the nurse of death.
I’m beginning to sweat. The heat from the pain is subsiding as I recover from that mild slash attack from my still unknown assailant. This could be the perfect kill. There is not a soul in the building and even the victim doesn’t see the killer. Perfect.
I hear a giggle.
As I question to myself to what she’s going to do next, I wonder if I know this girl. Why would she pick me? Surely Luca would have proved an easier target. One willing to get to know almost anyone proves his greatest witness to turn down an invitation by a woman. But before I could divulge into the matter, the searing pain returns. Only this time, it’s on my back. She’s started again. To rebel against her, I decide to bite my lip and take the pain. Perhaps she could get no satisfaction if I show no discomfort.
Art.
As she cuts away, I notice that elegance. I can now see why she chose the scalpel of all tools. She’s a perfectionist, an artist, a delicate doctor performing surgery on her patient. Tonight, I’m her patient.
For five minutes I take the pain. And I begin to see the picture that she’s painting. Japanese calligraphy. Interesting. This tells me something about her. Being a slight fan of calligraphy, I try to make out what she’s writing.
As she finishes the third symbol, I figure it out. Oh you clever girl.
“Slave. Pet. Toy.”
She’s taunting me. She’s trying to spark the stubbornness inside of me, demanding me to counter her attack. She’s the cat, and I’m the mouse. This cat plays, knowing that I’m trapped and have nowhere to go. I’m stuck under her paws; that tight grip that she so reluctantly wishes to let go of.
Release.
So, she wants a fight. You only live once, and even then this life is futile. Given a long enough time scale, the life expectancy of every living creature is reduced to zero. Tyler Durden is a brilliant man. I must mourn the fact he is a fictitious character, but he could have taught us so many of life’s great questions. You live life. You die. Anything between is what you make it, but either way, it still boils down to one hard, cold truth; we all die. This feline shadow, pawing on top of me, cutting with her claws, knows this hard truth, and is living her life. I admire her.
I decide to test my own theory of life and take things into my own hands. The ball is on my side of the court, but instead of hitting back – what she wants – I keep the ball, and squeeze hard. As she pulls the knife away from my back, I take the chance I need. Focusing all of my energy into my left arm, I pull. The barbs stick into my wrist like a thousand wasps swarming, stinging me, but I take the pain. All I see is red, everywhere, and the red turns to black as I watch my wrist pour. Like a fountain of life, I watch as the blood drips onto the bed, staining the once ghostly white sheets. I try to forget about the pain, and concentrate even harder on my seemingly impossible escape.
I feel the wire slipping from the bed post. She hasn’t moved yet, humoured by my attempts to free myself from this prison. As proof to her humour, she digs her knees into my hips. I ignore the pain, still focusing on my mission. I’m in enemy territory. I’ve been captured, and all I care about is my own survival.
I feel the wire subside over my force, and my arm becomes free, drenched in my own blood, I pull my arm to my mouth and lick it. That coppery taste is the taste of life. She gasps as she realizes what’s happened, but I’m too fast for her. I whip my arm around my back in a twisting motion and grab her cutting arm, jerking it into her. As I complete the motion I hear a pant and all goes silent for a split second. You could hear the wings of a fly, floating around the room. She was still holding the scalpel. Pulling away, I can hear the sound of metal cutting back against flesh. She pants again, as I hear the sound of cut tissue rubbing against itself. The creature has been wounded.
With a flick of the wrist I manage to make her throw the knife across the room. My other arm and chest are starting to ache from the barbs, but I must subdue her. Reaching back over my head I claw for her neck. I miss first time as I feel her swerve my attack, but I use this to my advantage. Quickly lunging again I grab her neck, squeezing to make sure I don’t lose grip.
I turn my neck around trying to get a better view, but all I see is a red blur. My grip tightens as I try to suffocate her. I can hear her panting for breath as she clasps my arm trying to loosen my grip…
Her movements slow down as she begins to faint. The deep cut in her chest causing just enough pain to hinder her movements, as she tried to reach for my face with her claws; those deadly talons that she once used to tear at me. But my arm is locked, and my grip tightens still. I feel the blood running down my arm, and over my shoulder, red hot, burning as it trickles next to my face. I can smell the anger, the lust, and the desperation.
She chokes.
My arm begins to tire; the pain and the ache from my muscles are starting to overwhelm me. As my grip loosens, I feel her body sway to the right. I use the last of my energy to push her, and I let go, sending the ghost, the nurse, my tigress, to the floor. As I turn my head back to the right I expect her to get up, but she doesn’t. She’s dead weight. No. Not dead. She’s not dead, merely incapacitated. Through the red I see blurs of movement as my now dormant master sleeps.
Using my free arm I unravel the barbs in my right wrist, slowly pulling the blood laden metal from my flesh, watching spurts of blood protrude. My captor lies motionless on the cold floor. As I free my second arm from the barbs, I press down slowly on the mattress, lifting my torso up off the bed.
I feel the springs try to recoil as I pull against them. My skin stretches, and the pain returns as I pull harder, slowly, against the bed, trying to force these instruments of torture out of my body.
The first spring caves under the force and pings out of my chest with a loud metal noise; that kind of noise you’d hear in a cartoon when something bounces. Only, I wasn’t laughing. I was losing my breath, and losing blood as it sprayed over the bed sheets. The hole in my chest dripped as I tried pulling out the remaining three springs. Slowly but surely they came out, one after the other, and each not without a good amount of blood lost.
I’m free.
Locking my arms in place, I assess my situation. I’m cut all over and I’m dripping, bathing in my own blood. There is an unknown girl lying unconscious on the floor beside me, and the room is nearly dark as the final few candles begin to die.
In the darkness I dig my knees into the mattress and push myself up. Kneeling, I breathe deeply, trying to regain some of my lost energy. Each breath brings back the pain of what I’ve just been through. The calligraphy on my back stings as the sweat from my neck runs over the cuts, and my arm is weak from the loss of blood.
I stare at the crimson springs underneath me, flinching, as I place my hand on my chest, feeling the holes, feeling the compressing pain. I lean further back and untie the shackles surrounding my ankles. Each turn of the wire releases a spurt of blood onto the sheets and floor. The final unravel and I’ll be free. But I grip too hard and the barbs shoot into my palm. I wince with the pain, but relish in the fact that it is nothing compared to what I just went through. I smirk as I pull out the barbs.
Slowly moving off of the bed, I try and stand but my legs are weak and I collapse. For a few seconds I regain my breath, and try to get up. I’m dizzy, hot, sweaty, and naked; painted in my own blood. Walking around the room, I try and find the light switch, rubbing the walls, spreading the blood like a trail of breadcrumbs across the cheap matte paint. I soon find the switch and flick on the lights. In a burst of blinding light I squint as the room is illuminated. Just my luck as I remember the electricity being out prior to this little escapade. Everything is pink, seen through the red filters of my eyes. I spot the girl, face down on the floor.
As I gaze around the room, I see the extent to which my evening has caused. Blood covers the bed, like a swimming pool that’s been dosed with food dye. The walls and headboard of the bed have been sprayed, no doubt from my wrists as I struggled against the wires. Moving around, I see the scalpel on the floor, dripping in my blood. Walking up to it, I pick it up and stare at it. Smiling, I set my sights on the girl, still a faceless creature.
I place the scalpel on the edge of the bed, and make my way for her. I slowly walk around the bed, breathing lightly, trying to avoid the pain.
Moving closer, I begin to kneel to get a better look at my attacker. Her skin is pale, as if she hasn’t seen daylight in weeks. Slender and soft, she’s sprawled in the floor, breathing slowly. Her short hair barely covers the vacant expression on her face. Turning my head at an angle, I get a better view of her face. Those slender lips tight shut as her body sleeps. I can see the bruises on her neck from my grip not so long ago. I see a small yet distinguished smile on her face. Oh, so innocent, yet so deadly. Her web of deceit drew me in, and caught me. Like a fly into a spider’s trap.
As my eyes adjust to the light, I begin to see her body in more detail. It’s covered in scars. I stare at those curves, lines, and patterns that once dug deep into her skin. Fuck, she never practiced on unknowing passers-by; she used herself, getting a taste of her own hard work. I move closer to her face, staring into her closed eyes. This innocence won’t brush off on me so easily this time.
Trial and retribution finds everyone.
I take my arms and slide them under her body, lifting her up slowly. Her arms dangle below in a rag-doll motion as I gain my posture. Her petite breasts move slightly while I walk to the bed, covered in my blood. I lean forward, licking off the blood, and I bite one of her nipples, half expecting her to awaken, but nothing happens.
I set my now resting toy on the bed, placing her back on the springs. I take her arms and legs and use the tangled barbed wire to tie her up. I spare no mercy, the same mercy she lacked to give me while tying me up. Each wrap around the wrists and ankles gives me that minute pleasure in the knowledge that I will soon get my revenge. My heart races as I feel the barbs pierce her soft skin, and dig into her flesh.
I make sure she can’t escape. I look around the room, searching for something. On, the chest of drawers, I see her underwear, neatly folded. She’d been waiting for a long time. Enough time to prepare perfectly. I only wish that I had more time so make my revenge more perfect. I walk over to the chest, ignoring the fact that I’m walking in a pool of blood; my feet slipping slightly under the reduced friction.
I place the underwear into her mouth. The silent torturer may not have made a sound while playing with me, but hell, she’ll scream when I play with her.
I see a chair in the corner of the room. This is the chair she used to wait for the prey. Like a sniper trained on the target, strategically placed in the corner of the room that I had least view of. Grabbing the chair, I drag it to the side of the bed and sit down. Looking below I see the scalpel, and I pick it up. Smirking, I rejoice, thinking my time has come.
She awakens.
Slowly, her eyes open. Jolting in the shock of her sudden location change, I watch in delight as she winces in pain from her new bonds. Turning her head slowly, she looks at me, and then down to the scalpel in my hands. Looking up again she stares into my blood red eyes; eyes that now weep the dye onto my face as they heal themselves.
I smile.
“Hello”.
She smiles though her hand-made gag as I open my mouth for a second time – “My turn”…
