What I would do...
Posted the pic yesterday, and today, the following story just popped into my head. Enjoy!
As always, the actual act was a blur. Lots of screams, lots of red, and at the end, silence. Always silence.
I stood up, the power drill in one hand, the steak knife in the other. I look down at my shirtless torso. Blood is everywhere, drying into brownish clumps. The movies always get that part wrong: blood doesn't dry red, it becomes a dark, loamy brown. You probably could paint walls with it and be laughed at for your tacky new western motif.
I look beyond my own body and to the mutilated body of... it. It helps me get through what I have to do if I don't think of my targets as he, she, man, woman, child, whatever. "It" is what I call them, and it doesn't matter: when they start screaming, they all sound the same anyway. I don't think about them begging me for mercy, the pathetic screams they always mule out as I touch the sharp edge of whatever implement I'm using that day to their skin and press in. I just think of what must be done, the end goal, the reward...
Behind me, the door opens. He's standing there, sunglasses on. His smile says he's pleased with what I've done. He's always smiling, but it doesn't always mean he's happy. One time I botched a job, the target almost got away. I finished it off, but we were almost discovered and it was messy. Well, messier than usual. He came at me wearing a different smile then, and I paid for my sloppiness. No reward, just pain.
This time, however, he's happy with me. His hand comes out from behind his back with the reward, that little 3" by 3" by 1" piece of heaven. He tosses it to me. It still frozen. How does he do that? There isn't a refrigerator for miles. I feel the little silver square's coldness in my hand, cooling off the blood on my hands that not 30 minutes before flowed through a vital human being. That didn't matter, tho...
I had my reward...
I tore the silver wrapper off and buried my teeth in the crunchy chocolate shell, tearing through the soft vanilla ice cream beneith like a band saw through soft wood. The sugary goodness hits my tounge and instantly I'm transported away, no longer in the charnal house but I'm in a special place, a blissful place where nothing matters, where people don't beg for mercy, where I don't have to listen to people offering money, cars, power, their bodies, whatever if I'll just let them go. All I feel in those few moments between the first bite and the last is the ecstacy of heaven, and if I look around and reach out, I can almost touch her again...
A snap of fingers and suddenly I'm back in the real world. The bliss fades as it always does. The remains of the wrapper falls from my hand and ilick the last of the melted chocolate and ice cream from my fingers.
I've grown weary of this cycle. This time, I'm going to do it, I'm going to tell him I'm done, I'm out. I stand up, turn to face him. The words are on my tounge when he holds up another package.
Heath Crunch...
That bastard...
"I have another assignment for you. This one is in Schenectady. Think you are up for it?"
I feebly reach for the reward,but he snatches it away, the smile turning mischevious. I dip my head, realizing that I'm still his slave, that I would still do anything for that reward.
"Yeah, I can do it. When do we leave?"
As always, the actual act was a blur. Lots of screams, lots of red, and at the end, silence. Always silence.
I stood up, the power drill in one hand, the steak knife in the other. I look down at my shirtless torso. Blood is everywhere, drying into brownish clumps. The movies always get that part wrong: blood doesn't dry red, it becomes a dark, loamy brown. You probably could paint walls with it and be laughed at for your tacky new western motif.
I look beyond my own body and to the mutilated body of... it. It helps me get through what I have to do if I don't think of my targets as he, she, man, woman, child, whatever. "It" is what I call them, and it doesn't matter: when they start screaming, they all sound the same anyway. I don't think about them begging me for mercy, the pathetic screams they always mule out as I touch the sharp edge of whatever implement I'm using that day to their skin and press in. I just think of what must be done, the end goal, the reward...
Behind me, the door opens. He's standing there, sunglasses on. His smile says he's pleased with what I've done. He's always smiling, but it doesn't always mean he's happy. One time I botched a job, the target almost got away. I finished it off, but we were almost discovered and it was messy. Well, messier than usual. He came at me wearing a different smile then, and I paid for my sloppiness. No reward, just pain.
This time, however, he's happy with me. His hand comes out from behind his back with the reward, that little 3" by 3" by 1" piece of heaven. He tosses it to me. It still frozen. How does he do that? There isn't a refrigerator for miles. I feel the little silver square's coldness in my hand, cooling off the blood on my hands that not 30 minutes before flowed through a vital human being. That didn't matter, tho...
I had my reward...
I tore the silver wrapper off and buried my teeth in the crunchy chocolate shell, tearing through the soft vanilla ice cream beneith like a band saw through soft wood. The sugary goodness hits my tounge and instantly I'm transported away, no longer in the charnal house but I'm in a special place, a blissful place where nothing matters, where people don't beg for mercy, where I don't have to listen to people offering money, cars, power, their bodies, whatever if I'll just let them go. All I feel in those few moments between the first bite and the last is the ecstacy of heaven, and if I look around and reach out, I can almost touch her again...
A snap of fingers and suddenly I'm back in the real world. The bliss fades as it always does. The remains of the wrapper falls from my hand and ilick the last of the melted chocolate and ice cream from my fingers.
I've grown weary of this cycle. This time, I'm going to do it, I'm going to tell him I'm done, I'm out. I stand up, turn to face him. The words are on my tounge when he holds up another package.
Heath Crunch...
That bastard...
"I have another assignment for you. This one is in Schenectady. Think you are up for it?"
I feebly reach for the reward,but he snatches it away, the smile turning mischevious. I dip my head, realizing that I'm still his slave, that I would still do anything for that reward.
"Yeah, I can do it. When do we leave?"