TW: Graphic depictions of gore
The shit I'd seen in the past week had my brain constantly battling against a heart attack. Constantly being in fight or flight had worn me thin. Feeling myself wiggle against the tree I'd been huddled in, the bark grating against my back, I let out a grunt of displeasure. I was sure all my skin was bright red considering I'd rubbed it raw. Between the fits of hysteria and my fruitless attempts at escape, my body had been battered and bruised from head to toe. Apparently, bending in unorthodox ways wasn't something my body really enjoyed doing.
I found myself heavily contemplating on the hatchet that hung limply in my freehand. I felt the course grain of the wooden handle against my palm, a sick sense of tension seemed to cloud over the forest today. After the few days I'd spent achingly waiting for release, I'd grown more questions than I got answered. How the fucker who got me here managed to slip these notes past me while I was always unconscious was beyond me. I felt my mouth dry as I recalled the monsters and the serial killer that intruded upon my home. There really wasn't any other option for escape except for cutting off my hands, but I knew- If I were to cut off my hand, that would only slim the chance of my escape. I wouldn't be able to work, nor drive, nor even struggle. If the fucker found me and I only had one hand, I'd have problems even loading a gun. The weight of the damn thing felt heavier as I contemplated what I'd have to do. After a few days of being stuck to the forest floor, I came to the realization that it'd be the only means of escape. I'd tried cutting the chains, I'd tried wiggling free, I'd tried clawing at the tree; I tried almost every damn thing I could think of. With the thick chain wrapped around my wrist and pinning it to a thick tree, I found it near impossible to escape.
I wiggle uncomfortably, still not daring to open my eyes for fear of coming face to face with another monster. I tightly gripped the handle of the hatchet, splinters digging into my skin as I tried to come to a conclusion; any conclusion. I couldn't find a way out of this no matter how hard I thought. My only means of escape might've been me negotiating with the bitch who had a bondage kink apparently. However, that seemed null to impossible after trying to tackle them, a serial killer. Besides, they always managed to escape my line of sight. Not once in these few days of torture had I even caught a glimpse of them.
With a feeling of defeat, I once again tried to wiggle my scuffed hand out of the chain; a fleeting feeling of hope had me think I might be free this time. Of course, whenever I tried to wiggle my hand, it just fell limply against the ground.
What...?
My thoughts swarmed as I managed to open my heavyweights of eyelids. Peering around me, I notice that my hand was free from the shackles that once held them. A sudden feeling of liberation shot throughout my body, but I quickly calmed myself as to not get too excited. I glance around my surroundings to finally see what was up. Only to see that, instead, they were now against my ankle, searing into my skin. Instead of it being directly tied against a tree, the thick chains were wrapped in a sort of loop that didn't leave any wiggle room. The thick chain then went around to wrap against a tree, where I could see it snuggly padlocked with a heavy-duty lock. My face scrunched up in a grimace. Another foreboding yellow sticky note stuck out to me. A pang of hunger hit me as I let my weary fingers grab the paper. Sweat covered the little page and made the inky words blur. 'Keep the hands.' My eyes widened in relief, despite acknowledging the sarcastic undertone in their scrawled words. Reaching and grasping the poor hatchet even harder, I brought my other hand to claw at the handle. Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt myself prepare for what I was about to do. The situation no longer felt real, a strange feeling getting caught in the back of my throat as I began to lift up the hatchet.
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I Want To Make You (Eyeless Jack X Prosthetist!Reader)
Fanfiction"The more you try to differentiate between reality and fiction, the more the lines seem to blur. " Having been caught up in conflict- your once languid life had been thrown in turmoil. With expectations placed on your shoulders, you'd been trying t...
