Transformer

Chapter 1: Sweet Dreams

"Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree?" the enchanting vocals of Annie Lennox wafted from the Echo Plus speaker as withdrew a scalpel from the assortment of tools carefully arranged on the tray.

The woman, bound by the wrists and ankles to the corner posts of a makeshift operating table, was overtaken by fear at the very sight of the blade. Her hurried gasping breaths made this quite apparent as did the evacuation of her bladder.

"Don't worry. Yes, you will hurt. And indeed, you will bleed. When all is said and done, however, this will prove to be merely an instrument of transformation, not your demise," I calmly explained. "When you came to me, you were but a tool. When you leave here, you will be an enduring symbol of your generation. And mark my words, you will be remembered."

The lyrics continued to play, "Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused."

"Truer words were never spoken." An unexpected notion to explain – to pass along my understanding – had washed over me, and I replaced the blade.

The apparent tension in her way eased subtly - by no means relaxed, but perhaps more receptive.

"Lennox was wise beyond her years. There are those with a will to power, and others with a need to submit. This is the way of the world. It's the nature of humanity beautifully summed up, but sadly it's not the entire picture. What Lennox fails to realize, or at least capture lyrically, is that the vast majority of people on the planet are victims. We're victims of society. We're drawn to it. We succumb to it. And in the end, it devours our very souls. The worst part is how few people realize it. There are, of course, the people who live on the fringes. Tramps. Nomads. Vagabonds. Whatever you want to call them, but their lives rarely impact those within. People don't try to know them. People don't try to understand. Rather, they are ignored, written off, or treated with distain, but I digress."

The response of the woman was lost to the rolled sock duct taped in her mouth, but I did catch fragments of assorted expletives.

"Now, now. There's no need for that kind of language. You're going to be here for quite some time, so it's important that we keep things civil. Know that I'm doing this for you. It's not for me. Nothing for my benefit. It's all for you. Everything."

Right then, as if by instinct, I knew that she – the beautiful young woman before me – would never understand. Trapped like a rat, at the mercy of my whims, she was in no place to think about anything more than her survival. And after, it would all fall into an account of her victimization. Meanwhile, I'll be cast in the role of her abuser – the godless monster who perpetrates vile deeds rather than her humble servant. More than anything, I wanted to have a real conversation with this woman – to stand face-to-face as equals and discuss the matter, but such a scenario could never be. Not now. Not ever.

"I do owe you an apology. You didn't volunteer for this, and things will never be the same for you – for either of us really."

Tears streamed down the side of the woman's face. Her desperation was still there – right on the surface, but I could tell that despair – hopelessness – had begun to move in. And once it took hold, she would be mine – body and soul.

"If I were to remove that sock from your mouth, would you scream? Be honest," I inquired in a firm, but calm fashion.

Tentatively, the woman shook her head NO.

"Are you sure, now? Seems like you hesitated. You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"

I got my answer.