“Now…this might hurt a little, Mr. Pyre”
The words reach me from the darkness surrounding, muffled yet rough like the venom of a snake. Fingers professionally fumble above my missing hairline, starting to unravel my bound darkness. Pain radiates through my body though my pride stops any feelings from surfacing. The voice continually comforts me. It feels as though nails are stabbing through my raw flesh. The pain intensifies as the second layer of blood-soaked bandage unravels, flowing to the ground, revealing for the first time this new face of mine. Light seeps through my eyelids, illuminating my new world.
“Now Mr. Pyre I need you to sit still or this will hurt.”
Sit still? How is a man expected to ‘sit still’, enduring the torturous pain of his skin being torn from its bones? Clenching my hands on the chair, I hope desperately that it will all stop, but it never does, just as the voice never did. Unable to escape from my position, the pain awakens my thoughts that should be left in deep slumber. I never took well to them being awakened.
“AGHHHHHH!”
The last wrap around my lips muffles my roars.
YOU ARE READING
River Pyre
Short Story' "BANG!" I snap my eyes open and instinctively jump to my feet. Turning my head in one rapid movement, I am faced with the image of my mother standing ashen in the hallway, her white knuckles plastered on the doorframe. The voices chuckle at the si...
