My victim, some random guy I happened upon while wandering the streets aimlessly, is securely duct taped to the table. The house we're in has been under construction for awhile, the walls built, but still covered in plastic sheeting. The air is thick and hot. Sweat beads on my victims forehead, slowly dripping into his eye. He blinks, trying to clear his vision so he can keep track of my preparing. It makes him look stupid, and I laugh as I'm setting out my instruments for the evening. The last thing I set out being a pad of paper and a pen. I think for a moment, scribbling on the paper. Meeting my victim's eyes, I smile in anticipation. "This is gonna be a tough one. Twelve letters." His face turns red with the effort it takes to try to speak through the tape I pasted over his mouth. "Ugh. Guess I'll have to take this off if I want you to play properly." I rip the tape off and roll my eyes when he gives a shout of pain. As expected, he starts the ever present begging for his life. Yada yada yada. I wrap my hand around his throat, squeezing just enough to halt his pathetic whining. "LIKE I SAID. Twelve letters. What's your guess?" I release my grip.
"Please, oh god please. Why are you doing this? God please help me!"
He's not paying attention to me! Thoroughly irked, I bring my hand with the pen in it down to his face, holding it a centimeter away from the frantically moving orb of his eye. "Last chance. Make your fucking guess." Maddeningly, he starts to pray. "Oh, this is cute. I've never hear this crap before." My voice drips with sarcasm. "Let me show you how I pray..."
Picking the hand saw up from the table, I hold it up so he can see it. The terror exudes from his very pores, letting off the aroma I love. I lick my lips and bring the saw to his left ankle. I press down just enough to part a few dermal layers. Just enough to start the flow of blood. The sight of it brings everything into place. Oh, nothing can compare to this. Nothing. Nothing. I slowly push the saw back and forth, luxuriating in each stroke of the blade. Skin splits. Muscles and ligaments tear at my will. It takes a bit more effort once I hit the bone, but that makes the job even more satisfying. It isn't until I saw through the last layer of skin connecting his foot to his leg that I even register his agonized shrieks. The foot drops, bouncing on the carpet. Blood pours wastefully out of the stump at the end of his leg. Whoops, get your mind back in the game Maddie. I replace the saw in my hand with an industrial strength iron. Somehow, his shrieks manage to intensify when I press the hot metal against the seeping stump of his leg, cauterizing the wound. The screaming starts to irritate me, and I toss my victim's severed foot at his face. "Shut up! Can't you see I'm helping you, here?!" Some people are SO ungracious. I pull the iron away once the bleeding ceases. His screams are tapering off, his eyelids fluttering. I deliver a hard slap to the side of his face, jarring him away from unconsciousness. "You've still gotta make a guess, ya know." I can't decipher anything from his moans and groans so I shrug. "Kay. Guess you miss another one." I repeat the process on his right arm, from the elbow. Halfway through, the saw, slippery with blood, gets difficult to maneuver. I remedy the situation by carefully licking the weapon clean as my victim shudders and cries. The blood briefly alleviating some of the lust, I continue my work, relieving him of his arm and cauterizing the wound closed. Much to my dismay, he faints from the shock. I pout and kick at the table, hoping he'll reawaken. Fine. I can be patient. Entertain myself while I wait. I pull my Ipod from my bag of toys, taking care not to get blood on it as I flip to a song and sing along.
"Don't you want to know how we keep starting fires? It's my desire, It's my desire. Danger! Danger! High Voltage!"
Oh, how lucky! My phenomenal singing talents must of woken him up! My victim groans, finally coming to. "Welcome back friend!" The sound of my voice starts the futile begging again. It pisses me off, so I take the scalpel from my bag and slice his eyelids off, just for the hell of it. I'm proud of myself, managing not to puncture the eye itself despite his struggling. Even with the cauterization, I know it will be all too soon before my plaything dies from shock so I speed up my process, still trying to get him to guess at least one letter. Just one! That's all I ask! At the end of the game, I throw the scrap of paper I'd been scribbling on. A sketch of a a stick man hanging from the gallows adorns the sheet. I cross my arms, perturbed. "The word was HABERDASHERY! Was that really so hard to guess?!" The only response I get is a low pitched squealing. I look down at my play thing. I amputated each arm at the shoulder, and the legs at the hip. His lidless eyes are rolled back in his head, and he's still trying to scream although I removed his tongue. Huh. I've made a human pillow. I link my hands behind me and serenely watch as his struggles cease. Each beat of the heart becoming more disjointed. And then..."Ah. Time of death.." I look at my watch. "3:29 a.m." I laugh, and the sound reverberates disturbingly in the empty room. Then, over my laughter, I hear another sound.
Slow, purposeful clapping. My laughter cuts off as if I'd been gagged. I turn around, resigned. Of course. Why am I not surprised. These two aspects of my life are so very interconnected.
My maker, leaning against a sawhorse, clapping long fingered hands together. "Bravo, monster! You are an artist after my own heart."
Fighting the hysteria that is just on the edge of stampeding through my mind, I reply. "You're not really here?" The quizzical tone in my voice makes me cringe. Stop. Be strong. You beat him once...
He stops his clapping, and places his hands on his thighs, leaning forward. In a whispered tone, "Does that really matter? I'm here, I'm there. Burned and dead, or here in your head. Either way you're listening, aren't you?" I want to say no. I want to turn around and run. How can a delusion still have such a hold on me? "Because you have always, and will always be mine, monster." I open my mouth to respond, but all the gallantry runs from me. Glancing back at my limbless play mate, I frown. Isn't this supposed to make it better? Make him...shut up? Why am I still so... I whimper out loud, and wrap my arms around myself. The specter of my maker smiles, knowing he's conquered me once again.
He walks toward me, and I shuffle a few inches back. Holding up a hand, a warning, he catches my gaze and wills me to be still. I accede, holding myself tighter and watching him as he slowly circles me. My face is a mask of grief and dismay. I though I was...strong. He stops his circling to lift my chin. "And who told you that, monster?" I listlessly try to pull my face away. His grip tightens. Fingernails digging into my skin, drawing blood. "This is all you know. This is all you can understand." Again, I try to respond. Instead of a snappy retort, I sob aloud. Please can't you just leave me alone. I'm trying. Trying to be...something. Someone. He releases his grip on my chin and continues his pacing. Circling me. Circling as he licks my blood from his fingertips. Circling his prey. "That's right. My prey. You still know your place." My place. He still manages to beat me down, even barely laying a hand on me. "Isn't it easier when you're mine? My ways are simple. Cut.." He smirks. "..and dry. You always know where you stand, how to react, how to behave. None of these, what do you call them? Pesky emotions?" But..I..want to feel. My brow creases in confusion to my own thoughts. I want to feel? He stops in front of me again. "No, monster. You don't." He unwraps my arms from around myself, placing them at my sides. Taking my face in between his hands, he forces my head up. And...as expected...I meet his eyes. He almost looks...concerned? "Concerned?" He laughs. "I'm only trying to protect my property."
I finally manage to speak. "Protect me? From what?" From who?
Hands on my cheeks, his thumb gently caresses my lips. "Look, monster." A harsh bolt of agony strikes through my brain. Images flip through too fast to comprehend. All I feel is the pain. Pain pain pain. "Shh...shhhh.."
I hear his voice over my own shriek. "What...what is that?" My voice is thick with the threat of tears.
"Things to come. You've opened yourself to a whole new sort of pain, monster."
My hands flutter at my sides, before reaching up to clasp my maker's against my face. "I DON'T UNDERSTAND!"
A flash of irritation crosses his face. He always hated when I shouted at him. I brace for the inevitable violence. What I understand, right? It doesn't come. Instead he shakes his head dispirited. "I'll give you a favorable option, monster. Stay. Stay in here, with me. Stay with what you understand. The simplicity of torture and fear. I'll only hurt you in ways you comprehend."
In my last ditch effort of courage, I reply. "Never. Never. I've made a life here. I'm going to put together the pieces you shattered. LET. ME. GO."
My maker's hands slowly drop from my face. He backs up a few steps, an unfathomable look on his face. "Poor Madelyn. You think you've felt pain? The best is yet to come." He places a hand over his heart, shaking his head at me. I squeeze me eyes shut, confounded.
When I reopen them he's gone. It's just me. Oh. And my...play..thing. I look at the mess on the table and feel an unwarranted disgust. I shake my head, trying to jog my mind into it's normal state. With a sigh, I start cleaning up. The gruesome joy I felt when I was playing is extinguished. Now...I don't know what I feel. Pulled in about ninety directions, none of which are fully conceivable. Before I exit the shell of a house, I hear my maker's voice whisper through my thoughts. A storm is coming. "Shut up." I mumble, half heartedly. I make my way home. I'm just stepping onto the porch when the sky opens up without warning. From the shelter of the awning, I turn around to stare into the downpour. This. This isn't what he meant. I rub my face vigorously, returning my gaze to the front door. A storm... I force my lips into a smile, hoping it doesn't look as much like a grimace as it feels, and let myself into the house.
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