It was late. No light crept in from behind the quiet slither of canvas that lined the cold, icy window. Many monsters had arrived and left in the evening prior, and only one remained in the room. A man in a black latex apron and a tinted welding mask stood at the end of the room. His breathing was rapid and heavy and his pulse was so that Oliver felt like he could taste it from the other side of the room. The room was an empty rectangle, filled with nothing but a used hospital bed from the 1980’s, and a hosepipe. The cracked tiled floor was littered with large drains that had been installed into the floor. A recurring drip could be heard and the reverberation from the outside world fluttered around the room to create an uncomfortable low frequency tone. Oliver had been strewn out across the bed all evening. Beaten senseless, he longed for nothing but death. Tight belts round his wrists bound him to the frame of the bed, gripping him closely. It was almost as if the bed had a personality, a personality of pure menace and malice, and was desperate to prevent Oliver from escaping. “Time we get started” the man in the mask grunted. A twisted excitement echoed in his words. A light hung above the bed, illuminating Oliver, as it swung from side to side in the draft that passed through the room.
“Please just let me go, I…I won’t tell anyone I swear! I …I haven’t even seen your face” Oliver pleaded.
“Awww, that’s a very nice proposition” beamed back a rather condescending voice.
He stepped closely towards Oliver, and reached into a bag to reveal a host of glinting sharp objects. Amongst them was a stainless steel scalpel. Fresh and clean, he gently caressed the tip of the blade along the rim of Oliver’s eyelid, separating the skin. A stream of warm blood trickled down his face. Agony surged through Oliver’s entire body; his nerves burning with discomfort, his consciousness begging for distance. Oliver couldn’t help but scream upon feeling the blade touch him.
“Oh I’m not going to have you screaming the place down” spoke the perpetrator. “We’ll have to deal with that”. He picked up a glass from beside the bed, and proceeded to slam it against Oliver’s shins repeatedly, until the glass smashed into several pieces. Picked up a handful of shards, he grasped Oliver’s jaw, and the shards of glass were pounded into his mouth.
Punch by punch, the man’s fist pummelled the fractured glass into the soft gums of his victim. The force of the punches uprooted teeth from their beds. The glass danced around the inside of his cheeks, carving rivers into the fleshy membranes either side of his mouth, which dangled and flailed down like scarlet drapes in a manor house.
Finally, the brutal beating subsided, as the perpetrator seemed out of breath. He staggered towards the hosepipe, appearing drunk in his walking. He grabbed the nozzle and furiously span the taps round, to create a torrent of water jetting out the end. He stamped back towards Oliver, who was moaning as shards of glass balanced on his delicate lips.
Suddenly, the hosepipe was forced into Oliver’s mouth with the jet barraging the back of his throat, and his mouth rapidly filled up with a mixture of blood and water with shards of glass and his teeth floating in the concoction. Oliver gasped for breath but couldn’t, as he felt a grip tightly pressed against his nasal cavity, and the liquid continued to rise as he felt his lungs on the verge of bursting out, Oliver’s reflex reaction took over and forced him to swallow. Oliver could feel every detail of the shards as they travelled down his throat; each cascading blade driving deep into the lining of the tissue.
“Most people don’t pay much attention to the feeling of swallowing. It is an ability many take for granted, and upon indulging in gluttonous binge, us humans tend to rather focus on the taste. There is something magical about how you pay a lot more attention to the act of swallowing during the act of having to perform said action on an unpleasant stimulus. Suddenly, every aspect of the swallowing process becomes painstakingly obvious, and is carried gift-wrapped to the forefront of consciousness. This applies to many things in life, we simply ignore it when our senses provide a positive stimulus but yet somehow negativity seems to prevail without commotion in the human mind. It is a mystery that captivates me. One may even suggest it’s an obsession.”
Beneath the tint of the welding mask, a grin could be seen, clearly the assailant enjoying every second.
“Wha have I done to you?”
“I’ll be back in a minute”.
He turned his back and exited the room though a heavy metallic door on the far side of the room. The door slammed shut against the hinges, and Oliver was plunged in to darkness…alone.
Oliver awoke, and did not know exactly how long he had been unconscious for. Indeed, he was not even aware he had passed out. He had hoped it had all been a dream. A drug trip perhaps. But here he was again, awake in the disgusting reality presented to him.
The metallic door swung open, and a steady stream of bright light poured into the room. It was like staring at the sun, as the photons seems to attack his retina, even with his eyes closed to the best of his strength. The man entered again, and the exit was once again sealed. The light was once again switched on. “Hey, I heard you were right handed,” came a laughing voice from across the room.
Clenched in the hands of the attacker was a vice, which was quickly placed on Oliver’s right wrist, clamping his forearm to the metal rails that ran parallel to the bed. The man seemed in a hurry this time, and was very determined. Oliver tried to mutter a beg for mercy but was silenced by a strip of parcel tape pushed down across his mouth. The attacker brandished a screwdriver, and proceeded to thrust it into the hand of Oliver. Clasping his thumb still, the attacker lodged the flat faced screwdriver underneath the nail, jerking it upwards and ripping it from the finger entirely, as it shot off and skated across the floor. Turning the head of the screwdriver sideways, the man violently scratched the soft membrane that sat underneath the fingernail, the layers folding and tearing under the motion of the tool.
Seemingly not satisfied, the man once again picked up the scalpel. Cutting through Oliver’s trousers, he carved a hole in the fabric so to reveal his genitalia. The scalpel was then plunged down Oliver’s penis, carving open his urethra. The complex system of tubing and piping was split and sliced open as a steady stream of blood ran out down his trembling, pale thighs. The contrast between the deep oozing blood and Oliver’s skin was like that of a robin’s chest as it dances across a snowy landscape winters afternoon. It trickled down onto the bed and ran down the sides, forming a waterfall to the floor. “This is the best you’ve ever had” shouted the man “I’m fucking you. I’m fucking you like the bitch that you are and there is nothing you can do about it. Feel the blade fucking you, you bitch. Moan for me bitch” screamed the attacker, as he drove the scalpel up and down the inside of Oliver’s sexual organ. His nerves were picking up every detail, every angle, and every nanometre of the blade in astounding clarity. A muffled cry could be heard from beneath the parcel tape. Bubbles formed at the sides of the tape, with a red hue foaming over the sides.
Pulling the scalpel out, the man returned to focusing on Oliver’s eyes. He leant in closely, his chest breathing heavily. He hung the sliver blade in front of his face. “I want you to see every second of this” whispered the man. The light glistened of the blade, as it was run gently across Oliver’s eye lids. Oliver was begging for death; the pain was excruciating. His screams unheard, as he choked and spluttered beneath the tape. The eyelids seemed to detach very swiftly from their base, as a bloodied flap of skin was pinched out by the attacker, revealing and exposing Oliver’s eyes. The man reached for a barber style shaving razor, and began to bring it closely to Oliver’s left eye. He held it there for a few seconds, Oliver unable to bare it, screaming and wriggling in the bed - his body contorting and fighting against the belt restraints.
The next thing Oliver saw was the razor passing swiftly through his cornea, as the juices within the eye bubbled and squirted out over the face of the blade. A blend of yellows and reds darted across the silver and ran down the attacker’s wrist, dripping surreptitiously to the floor before joining the stream of blood already on the floor and spiralling down one of the nearby plugholes.
A cavity had opened up in Oliver’s eye, much like the way a yolk bursts from its confines when cutting into a fried egg.
Oliver passed out from the pain.
Whilst lying there, the attacker took the opportunity to utilise his victim’s motionless body. Drawing a sewing kit from underneath the bed, the man clasped a needle between his forefinger and thumb. He slid on needle into the cavity in his victim’s eye, pressing it in to the middle where the pupil of the eye separated into to flapping folds.
Not satisfied, the attacker desired to create a voodoo doll out of Oliver, so that he could look at him as a souvenir. The man pinched another pin tightly, and slid it carefully into the veins in Oliver’s neck, that were bulging out due to the stress and his screaming. The needle ruptured the endothelium of the vein and a soft calm stream of blood faintly trickled down to his shoulders. A few minutes later and this process had been repeated several times, with numerous pins lining both sides of Oliver’s neck.
Then they had a burger each, and chilled out in front of the TV. The burgers were angus beef : )
[[Please bear in mind that Oliver was a complete bastard in his life. The event that caused the sequence described in this accurate account was caused by the fact that Oliver defecated on the hopes and dreams of the attacker’s children. He constantly bullied them at school and was a very nasty man. He deserved everything that the attacker did to him.]]