Story: Twisted Girl in the Grey.
wrote this some time ago. Posting it here because it feels right to do so. Enjoy.
The ratty old cage creaked in agony as she twisted in her spot. She could feel the spikes of rusted metal and wetness of the blanket on her back. The smell alone was nearly overpowering. Ammonia and copper. Her white nightgown had been tarnished by soot and blood, though she had long forgotten whose. Her raven hair was knotted and pulled at her head painfully while she tried not to think about what was stuck in it's mass. Her alabaster skin had dried and was cracking as she screamed, her voice not even recognizable as human. Eyes green with envy as much as it was her natural colour. She peered upwards to the rust-covered hinge of her cage, and the frampant blue flickering flourescent bulb. Her lips were painted an unnatural black, just like her nails that dug into the cage, slowly splitting the nails from their moors, causing blood as thick as molasses to pour from under her nails and down her hands.
The skin around her right shoulder cracked and flaked slightly as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes were fading in their ferocity as she turned her head around the room. All she could see amidst the flickering lights were grey. The grey stone walls peered back at her. The cracks like exclamation marks on her soul. A reminder of just how much this place had broken her.
A sound that could only be equated with snapping wood erupted and echoed throughout the room as she twisted her body to follow her head. She wasn't sure if she needed to move her body to match her head's movements, but she was already disoriented enough as it was.
Her consciousness came and went, it seemed. She couldn't remember how long she'd been here. It seemed like forever. She had forgotten all she was before (or so she thought) and only knew the tortures of this place. She knew that the men who damaged her... twisted her... called it a 'hospital'. A pang in her heart came every time they used the word. Almost as if it had been a sword of betrayal pierced into her side, just like the strange... devices... they would stick into her once-soft flesh. That was all she remembered: Her swimming back and forth between being laid bare on a cold steel table while deranged things pretending to be men worked on her... violated her... And then the equal agony of solitude and pain, locked in this cage, always in a different room, it seemed. She could never tell..
Except this room was different. She had managed not to cry out in agony when she turned around to see what was behind her, and she thanked herself, partially. At least, she tried to. All coherency was gone. All sense was gone. There was only grey.
But then there was the man in the shadows. Hiding in her silohouette, the creature was ducked behind a steel 'operating table...' The white sheet was stained with blood and oil, but he was behind it. His balding, large head bobbing up and down. A horrid, disgusting sound of phlegm bubbling and twisting, the pressure snapping twigs penetrated the girl's ears. She made out two beedy little yellow eyes in his head, hiding behind thinly framed, circle-shaped glasses. His hair, what little was left, was so dark a brown that it was nearly black, and was nearly as filled with soot as hers. He wore a white labcoat that had been stained to a disgusting shade somewhere between brown and red. The coat hid his large, flabby form even more. He held something in his hand, however. He caressed it even as she realized that horrendous noise was coming from him, and that he was shaking like an epileptic rabbit.
For a second, she saw the glimmer of what he held. The golden metal shone oddly due to the flickering of the flourescent light. Eventually, she made out what looked like a pendulum... and a gear.
Her frame squirmed, her flesh shattered. Like shards of glass her stomach flayed away in her desperate attempt to get away from the creature in the corner. Her scream shattered the skin in her neck, as the room filled with a sound undescribable in it's horror. It wasn't pain that made her scream. She had grown numb to physical agony long ago. No, what made her scream was the realization of what had been done to her.
Of what she had become.
The last of her blood flowed down the cage as her ribs-made-pianowire flew about, shedding open the cage which had encased her.
The man was nowhere to be seen.
(c) 2005 eric logan taylor
The ratty old cage creaked in agony as she twisted in her spot. She could feel the spikes of rusted metal and wetness of the blanket on her back. The smell alone was nearly overpowering. Ammonia and copper. Her white nightgown had been tarnished by soot and blood, though she had long forgotten whose. Her raven hair was knotted and pulled at her head painfully while she tried not to think about what was stuck in it's mass. Her alabaster skin had dried and was cracking as she screamed, her voice not even recognizable as human. Eyes green with envy as much as it was her natural colour. She peered upwards to the rust-covered hinge of her cage, and the frampant blue flickering flourescent bulb. Her lips were painted an unnatural black, just like her nails that dug into the cage, slowly splitting the nails from their moors, causing blood as thick as molasses to pour from under her nails and down her hands.
The skin around her right shoulder cracked and flaked slightly as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her eyes were fading in their ferocity as she turned her head around the room. All she could see amidst the flickering lights were grey. The grey stone walls peered back at her. The cracks like exclamation marks on her soul. A reminder of just how much this place had broken her.
A sound that could only be equated with snapping wood erupted and echoed throughout the room as she twisted her body to follow her head. She wasn't sure if she needed to move her body to match her head's movements, but she was already disoriented enough as it was.
Her consciousness came and went, it seemed. She couldn't remember how long she'd been here. It seemed like forever. She had forgotten all she was before (or so she thought) and only knew the tortures of this place. She knew that the men who damaged her... twisted her... called it a 'hospital'. A pang in her heart came every time they used the word. Almost as if it had been a sword of betrayal pierced into her side, just like the strange... devices... they would stick into her once-soft flesh. That was all she remembered: Her swimming back and forth between being laid bare on a cold steel table while deranged things pretending to be men worked on her... violated her... And then the equal agony of solitude and pain, locked in this cage, always in a different room, it seemed. She could never tell..
Except this room was different. She had managed not to cry out in agony when she turned around to see what was behind her, and she thanked herself, partially. At least, she tried to. All coherency was gone. All sense was gone. There was only grey.
But then there was the man in the shadows. Hiding in her silohouette, the creature was ducked behind a steel 'operating table...' The white sheet was stained with blood and oil, but he was behind it. His balding, large head bobbing up and down. A horrid, disgusting sound of phlegm bubbling and twisting, the pressure snapping twigs penetrated the girl's ears. She made out two beedy little yellow eyes in his head, hiding behind thinly framed, circle-shaped glasses. His hair, what little was left, was so dark a brown that it was nearly black, and was nearly as filled with soot as hers. He wore a white labcoat that had been stained to a disgusting shade somewhere between brown and red. The coat hid his large, flabby form even more. He held something in his hand, however. He caressed it even as she realized that horrendous noise was coming from him, and that he was shaking like an epileptic rabbit.
For a second, she saw the glimmer of what he held. The golden metal shone oddly due to the flickering of the flourescent light. Eventually, she made out what looked like a pendulum... and a gear.
Her frame squirmed, her flesh shattered. Like shards of glass her stomach flayed away in her desperate attempt to get away from the creature in the corner. Her scream shattered the skin in her neck, as the room filled with a sound undescribable in it's horror. It wasn't pain that made her scream. She had grown numb to physical agony long ago. No, what made her scream was the realization of what had been done to her.
Of what she had become.
The last of her blood flowed down the cage as her ribs-made-pianowire flew about, shedding open the cage which had encased her.
The man was nowhere to be seen.
(c) 2005 eric logan taylor