Shattered

4

He guided me through the white halls, panic finally sinking in. I started to slow my steps, but he just became more persistent and pushed me harder, grabbing my shoulder.

I don't want to die.

Do I?

I didn't have much time to think about it, as we quickly got to the room where all the torture took place in my life.

"She's here sir."

"Bring her in."

No. No no no.

He dragged me in the room, and panic gripped my throat.

"Lay her down her. I'm almost ready." The scary man said. I got a closer look at his name.

Dr. Stewart

Well, at least I know the name of the man that's going to take my life.

Cause that's just so helpful.

The man that led me here put me on the table and strapped me down, like normal.

I tried to get free, but all it led to was pointless, pathetic, squirming.

For a moment I considered yelling to let me go, but I kept me mouth shut. They didn't even know I could talk. Sure, they knew I was physically capable, but I have never uttered a word to them. They thought I was just the dumb guinne pig. I always let them think that. The don't deserve my words.

Maybe if I say something, they will decide I'm worth keeping. At least for a little while.

But the more I thought about it, the less, I realized, I wanted to live like this.

So I kept my mouth shut. Like always.

"Ok, this is going to hurt. But it'll all be worth it. One less mouth to feed, you know?" Dr Stewart said to me. Bile rose up my throat. I bet he would feel different if he was the one on the table.

Now what happened next was...odd.

Normally, they use more fancy tools. Ones typically used for advanced surgery. However, this time he pulled out a large, chunky knife. It wasn't fancy at all. In fact, it was rather boring and bulky. Why would he use that over his nice, slim tools?

He noticed me looking at the strange choice in tool.

"Oh, this? Well, you see, if anyone ever found your body, we wouldn't want it to seem like it was done to cleanly and professionally. Sometimes, sloppy is actually the best cover." He said, like we were having a normal conversation about the weather. A shiver ran through me as he talked about someone finding my body.

You are a sick, morbid man. I hope you get major karma.

He started walking towards me, with a horrifying look in his eyes. He was completely psychotic. If he didn't have the job he had here, I'm sure he would be off killing and maiming people for the fun of it out in the real world.

The only difference is he gets paid for it here.

He was standing over me now. Knife in hand. Then in a quick motion, he brought it down violently on my arm.

I whimpered loudly, trying not to scream. That's when I noticed a mirror above me, allowing me to see my whole body.

He wants me to watch.

He dragged it sloppily down the length of my arm, cutting down, across, and repeating on the other arm.

Then he moved down to my legs, repeatedly stabbing and gashing, till I actually was screaming.

And it takes a lot to get me to scream.

He then took the knife to my feet, repeating the gruesome act.

Why is he doing this?

Gash after gash. There was so much blood. On his mask, his coat, hands, and especially the table and floor. If if wasn't for the fact that they created me in a way that I could loose gallons of blood and not die, I would be long gone.

But my blood replenishes inhumanly fast, so all I could do was watch and feel.

He brought the knife towards my face.

My breath quickened, and I gave him agony filled look, begging for him to stop with a look in my eyes.

He laughed.

He laughed.

And brought it near my ear, slashing it horizontally across my face.

I let out a blood curdling scream, and he leaned in, whispering in my ear, in the most horrifying voice.

"Scream. Scream and beg." He said, his voice deep and raspy.

I shuddered. The blood loss was finally getting to me. I started to feel dizzy.

But he wasn't done. He wasn't even close to done. He cut and gashed and sliced, leaving my entire body as a bloody pulp. Nobody would ever recognize me, even if I did live, and eventually heal. I would be a walking mess of scars. He even used the knife to remove my finger prints and all. I was truly unrecognizable. I felt like vomiting when I gazed back at my reflection.

Unrecognizable.

He doesn't want them to identify my body, and figure out I don't exist.

"Beg." He whispered, putting his knife down, and placing his bloody hands on the sides of my head.

I swallowed. Or at least, I tried. But my mouth was full of blood, and I more gurgled than anything.

He gripped my skull with his disgusting hands.

"Goodnight." He whispered.

Then he jerked my head to the side, and snapped my neck.

•~•~•

IM SO SORRY.

No you're not

YES I AM.

No, I'm actually not.

Don't worry, all will be well. And I will probably rewrite this cause it's really really badly written.

That part, I actually am sorry for.

The only reason I'm keeping it is cause I want to move on with the story and get to the fun part.

Ugh.

Xoxoxo

-Eva c:

Word count: 964