Trapped In Nowhere

"I want to play a game"

"Hello Marilyn, you don't know who I am. Oh, but I know more about you than you can imagine. I want to play a game.", Marilyn angrily interjects him. "Damn, who are you? Give me your fucking name. What kind of prank is this? I will definitely not play any of your games!", He literally shouted this sentence into the receiver. "I'll hang up if you don't fucking tell me what's really going on here! Where am I ?! And where's christina ?!
I'll kill you cursed son of a bitch if you did anything to her. I'll blow your shitty sick head away, I'll pierce your throat until you choke on your own blood you swine! "
The stranger ignores Manson's loud aggression and continues: "Since you are a teenager, you cut yourself. Your wounds could never heal properly because you dared to cut again. Black, blood-red craters of self-destruction run deeply through what you still call your own "skin". But what if your skin became the possession of the blade and is only a human canvas of your masochism? It seems that you admire the color red very much and are fascinated by the devil. I have closely observed how much you desire your own flesh Mr. Manson, it shouldn't be a problem for you to turn red like the devil, peel off your skin and turn your flesh outside, hahahaha, how deep you would dig in your own flesh to unlock the key to your freedom? How much skin would you cut away to remove the poison that circulates in your veins? How much blood will you lose to get closer to your loved one's rescue? You have 7 hours. Make it quick Marilyn. otherwise you will be paralyzed by the poison and christina will die an unimaginable death because of the outlaw. Live or die. Two lives running slowly like sand through your hands Marilyn. Make your choice. "

Before Manson could say anything, the stranger hangs up. Manson couldn't believe it. If someone else were here they would literally see this indescribable, distorted expression. He screams, he screams the burden of this situation from his body. He screams for help. But nobody hears him. What should he cut himself with? No knife anywhere. His shaking hand takes this old phone again, he tries to call me again. But now nothing happened, only a beep sounds, which fades more and more. Marilyn sags to the floor. He touches his bare skin to feel the key in him. Marilyn knows that the path to freedom is buried in him, he could hear it in the sick words of the psychopathic stranger. Manson thinks, maybe there is another way?

But none of them will be able to avoid pain.

He is prone to insanity, because in some way, Marilyn has been a little stained with insanity for years. He is under so much pressure, the air feels stuffy, it feels like his throat is tying up.
The clock is ticking like a fast heartbeat, loud, deafening in the head. As if his head was going to explode. He screamed like someone who has already completely lost his mind. His fear is projected onto the room. Everything starts to feel heavier, the air is colder, the ground harder, the chain around his neck seems tighter around him. He no longer hesitates and digs as deeply as possible with his fingertips under the iron shackle. The pressure and the strength of his strained fingers tear his skin. Warm blood comes out and trickles over his hands. The chain feels slippery due to the blood and makes wet noises. He groans and whimpers. Every time the fetter jerks up he cries out painfully. A melody of agony. The chain is literally fused to his skin, which means that he separates the entire surface of his neck from the meat when he finally manages to loosen and move the fetlock. His fingers feel like blunt drills or small shovels. He slowly pushes the blood-covered and heavy rope up, pursuing the goal of pulling it over his head and being free from the constriction. Manson feels like the helpless one in the claws of a animal abuser or like a Jew in the period of World War II.
Does this stranger want his skin as clothes or something?!

When trying to pull it over his jaw, Marilyn has to find out in despair that the chain is too tight and a broken jaw is inevitable.
He gathers up all his strength, his courage ... his will to save whom he loves and to survive. He is fighting the terrible scenarios in his head. Screaming and with the last of his strength, he presses the chain against his jaw, squeezing it more and more ... without a break ... the blood flows like a small waterfall and leaves a gap in the part of the body that once looked like an intact neck. His hands are shaking as if he couldn't get rid of an electric shock, it got even colder inside ... he tries to stand on both feet, sometimes he totters as if he were too drunk from absinthe, which he loves so much and often drinks.
Now it is finally happening. A loud cracking, breaking noise eats its way into his ear canal and has exactly the same effect as the shrill, scratchy sound of long, pointed nails dragging across the surface of a board. The pain, unimaginably pressing, squeezing and tearing. A bitter shiver ran over Marilyn's body and made him winced. The teared thing fell on the blood-soaked floor, together with the neck cuff, which is wrapped in a skin rag. Shocked and staggered, with wide eyes, Marilyn stares at his severed jaw, the remains of which only look like red pulp or something red that you have puked up.

The disfigured figure is happy that there is no clear mirror in the room, he doesn't even want to think about how monstrous he looks now, with a jawless face and without skin from neck to head. He slowly diverts his cold gaze from this crushed lump and stares at the cell door. As if in a drug frenzy, he paces towards the exit, dismayed. The ground under his bare feet is sticky, wet and even greasy from all the blood that has been spilled. He sees red larches converging or doing the opposite and flowing apart like swarms of insects, birds or fish that make different decisions. Arrived at his current destination, Manson desperately clings to the grid like a child to a parent. A vision flashes before him, all of a sudden.