My eyes slowly flicker open, only opening about halfway. Where am I? I wonder; my surroundings blurred. I blink slowly trying to see clearly through my hooded eyes. My head still downcast from my sleep, I slowly raise it but stop once the picture in front of me clears fully. The floor in front of me looks smooth and clean, save for the brown spots staining the pristine gray. I move my feet to feel the floor and relish in the smooth marble like texture that greets my rough calloused feet. Moving around I realize something's not quite right, my feet feel claustrophobic. I shift my gaze to them and see why. Restraints are tightly wound against my ankles. They're dirty and grimy looking; a strange red substance covering them. Oh god, that's blood; I think my eyes finally opening fully. Staring at the blood-soaked rope, I try to force my feet apart but all I'm met with is the squish of blood and the disgustingly warm feeling of it meeting my skin. I Follow the trails of crimson as they run down my ankle, before my eyes slowly move on to the rest of my battered body.
My once tanned skin now pale and lifeless. Just how long have I been here? I shake the thought from my head and continue to look at my broken body. My knees prominent in my skinny legs, my hips almost piercing through my fragile skin. My once muscular torso almost caving in completely, my ribs on display. My arms weak and frail as they hang limply at my sides. I take a deep breath just to let out a hacking cough from the dust-clogged air. Along with the disgusting scent of my own feces and blood assaulting my senses. My tired eyes watering with disgust seeing as the site itself isn't much prettier. My skin itself, coated with my own bodily fluids and cuts decorating my skin like complex abstract art, understood by only the artist and no one else. I sigh and go to rub my face, only to be stopped by the clanking of chains. I look down and I'm not surprised in seeing the shackles adorning my bony wrists. They're rusted with years of use and blood, presumingly from their past victims. They're rough against my skin breaking it open at the slightest movements, the crimson staining my skin as it rushes down my skeletal limbs. My eyes travel up the chains that hold me against the wall. The dark gray of the chains contrasting against the dirty tan of the wall. I lean my head back groaning at the stiff feeling in my neck. My eyes widening in terror as I see the marks that decorate the prison's wall. Long thin lines trail down it, nail marks. All driven in the plaster with rage and a ferocity one sees within cornered animals. The rough marks fitting my hands perfectly and it makes me wonder, are some of these mine?
I shift my gaze upwards trying to rid my thoughts of those horrors. They don't stop there though, dried blood splatters decorate the dull wall behind me as well as the bright ceiling of this prison. The dark rust of the blood standing out vividly against the piercing white that colors the plaster of the ceiling. I sweep my eyes along the length of the ceiling, following a large crack in the ceiling, appearing as though something was torn down harshly. The edges ragged showing the dark brown wood of the floor above. But as I try to scout out the rest of the room my visions blocked by dark mahogany shelves. My curiosity prevails and I lower my gaze to the ancient, dust coated shelves, only to be met with nightmares that appear to be straight out of a horror movie. The dark shelves are covered in jars ranging from the size of my head to my pinky. They're old, foggy, and filthy; filled with strange objects, barely visible through the grime that coats them inside and out. Squinting, I gasp at the disgusting images that greet my eyes; the things inside the jars seem human like. Sweeping my eyes over the trophy case, haunting eyes and preserved body parts salute me. The eyes are milky white, packed like pickles in a jar the size of my head. Over two dozen pairs all squished together in their grotesque grave. I tear my trembling eyes away and move on, only to wish I hadn't. Their most recent kill is dangling next to their trophies, strung up by its hind legs ready to be skinned and slaughtered. It's big, blank, black eyes staring straight at me, warning me of what's about to come. My eyes travel up from its head and neck, freezing when they meet the matted fur of the chest. There's a large cartoon style, heart-shaped hole in its chest. Bone shards surrounding the thick, matted fur and floor, a large puddle of fresh blood still dripping down its fur. The rotting stench of death and decay almost overpowering everything, but it's much too recent of a kill to give off that much stench; no matter how large and gruesome this kill was. Taking in a shallow breath I locate the true cause of the stench. It's right after the deer hanging low on the dirty wall, maybe six or seven feet from where I lay unceremoniously shoved in the corner, discarded like yesterday's trash. A cesspool to collect the guts from their carcasses. Reeking of all that's been washed down the rusted garbage disposal. From the scent alone it seems that it's filled with the guts of a recent kill, the drain most likely clogged with the rotting flesh of past victims, human and deer alike. After all, we're just game to them, for them to enjoy hunting in their sick and twisted minds. I fight back bile as a glimmer of light flickers on the cesspool, being filled to the brim with thick brown blood, bodily fluids, and lighter organs floating through the sludge like it's a swamp. Wait... light? My head shoots forward and I greedily take in the dim light from the window. It's small, maybe two by one in size. While dirty and stained brown it gives me hope. A glimpse of freedom, in this tiny, cracked window. All of a sudden,"BOOM" goes what I assume are doors, light flowing into the room illuminating the shelves of horror that sit right across from me. Giving me an even clearer view of all she's taken from her victims. Light footsteps greet my ears and I tense waiting to catch sight of the monster that's done this to me. I see their shadow and brace myself for the image of my personal reaper. But stepping into the light is... a woman? Dressed in a pastel pink sweater, looking soft as clouds and as comforting as home. Freshly pressed, tan khakis hiding her legs, and bright white pearls adorning her thin neck and small ears. A big diamond ring catching fire in the faint light, wrapping around her thin, piano like left ring finger. I take a shuddering breath as her pale blue eyes examine my figure before she nods and smiles to herself, seemingly happy with the thoughts running through her twisted mind. She walks closer to me, her sweet perfume overpowering the stench of the cellar, a feat I would've thought to be impossible. She stops about two feet from me and sets down a big black case, one I hadn't noticed while examining her. I gaze at it nervously and she breaks out in a splitting grin, her pale face creasing with laugh lines."Don't worry darling," her sweet honey voice reassures me. My body relaxes listening to such a sweet voice with a strong sense of caring intertwined. She can't possibly be the nightmare that's done this to me. She appears so sweet, so innocent; she looks like your average mom.
As she opens the case I catch sight of gardening tools, although after she pushes those aside, my blood runs cold. My heart skipping beats as she pulls out her tools. Knives ranging from cleavers to steak knives being set gently on the floor. The last item being a... sewing needle? I give it a confused stare which she catches, "you'll find out what this is for in just a second sweetie." she coos at me making my body turn cold; her dainty hands threading a thick black string through the needle's eye. Standing she slowly makes her way to my trembling body. "Oh don't worry honey, this won't hurt." She hums out happily, her vicious grin contradicting her sweet tone. I struggle as the gleaming silver needle gets closer and closer to my eyes. As it does hints of rust can be seen and the scent of bleach can be detected despite her disgustingly strong rose perfume. Her smooth hand grips my chin forcing it still, her hands soft as though she's never worked a day in her life.
A scream tears through my sore throat, the gleaming silver coated with blood and tissue as she sews through my eyelid, connecting it to my eyebrow. Forcing my eyes open to witness the torture she's about to put my already broken body through. She finishes quickly and efficiently, as if she's done this a thousand times. Humming cheerfully as she sets the needle aside and grabs one of her toys of torture. A thin steak knife by the looks of it, shining in the faint light, her warm face going out of focus as I focus on the light. A piercing pain echoing through my torso, a fresh scream tearing out of my battered body. The sharp blade barely requiring any extra pressure as they cut and slice away at my body with practiced ease. Stained crimson, glimpses of silver poking through the overpowering red. The blades crisscrossing with the previous artwork, my tired eyes finally resting on her face. Trying to block out the horrors that are being done to me. As I feel the blade leave my skin I look down and cringe when I hear the shrieks of the knives as she grinds them slowly. The new one as beautifully as the first, cleaned like a prized possession. My already wide eyes wider as she lowers them to my privates. Their shrill screams coming to a stop, only to have mine replace them. The sharp pains increasing tenfold as she rips and tears through my manhood. My throat going raw, eyes tiredly looking at the lump of flesh she now holds in her perfectly manicured hand. Limp, lifeless, and blood stained. The crimson horror soaking into her pale skin and my once connected limb. The metallic scent of my own blood piercing my nose as she dangles it under my nose. "Don't fret my dear, just taking my trophy," she exclaims before skipping to her trophy case. Taking down a surprisingly clean jar filled with a strange, thick liquid. The jar itself being about as big as my hand. She gently puts it in before replacing the shining golden lid on top of it and placing it back on the shelf. My eyes wishing to close as I see her stop by her bag of death. Once again humming to herself and rummaging around gleefully. Her dainty hands come into my forced view and I shiver seeing the bright plastic and shiny Ceram wrap. The crinkles piercing my ears like bullets as she neatly lays them one on top of the other. Placing my rough feet on top of them feeling the smooth, cool, plastic of the coffin my reaper has graced me with. She smiles into my tired eyes as I feel the blood loss slowly killing me. Letting my head drop onto my bony shoulder, having no more strength in my battered body to keep it up. My eyes resting on the deathbed beneath me. The dirty, grimy mat being the sad excuse of a bed she had given me. Letting out groans and puffs as my body becomes a dead weight. The blood squishing grossly. The wet vomit and blood-soaked bed being the last thing I feel, the last thing I hear. No... as my eyesight dims further she kneels in front of me, her pale calculating eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, you'll do wonderfully for my flowers!"
