Stories I Never Finished

Anatomical

Long thin nails dragged ruthlessly down soft flesh, recreating deep crimson lines as blood collected beneath them. Violent screams echoed in the distance like the dying pleas of a banshee slain by their human lover, while bashing fists pounded against doors made of hardened wood; rippling a broken melody through the block.

Head tilted back against the wall, Michael let out a soft breath and fluttered his tired eyes open; gazing to the ceiling of his white padded cell. Dragging his claws further down his neck, he let out a broken cry and tore his hand away as his own blood trickled from his fingers.

A scream ripped through his mind, flashes of blood across a marble floor merging with the image of a dead woman who stood among the midnight black of an empty, endless hallway. Her lifeless eyes stared at him, until all at once her screech tore apart the world and sent Michael jolting back into reality; eyes burned by the vision of her gaping mouth and unhinged jaw.

He didn't belong here.

The sound of heavy shoes against the floor sent waves of silence fighting the vicious howls, with each clack of black plastic against concrete the building grew quieter and quieter; madness falling from the being of great power and drooling across the floor. It seeped beneath the cracks of doors, staining the padded cells with a vile shade of red that spread like wild fire—forcing cellmates fearfully back against padded walls. Terrified they would be the next victim.

Black boots against cold flooring was the sound of power, a vicious king who ruled over his miserable peasants that were too afraid to fight back against his tyranny.

Michael wasn't afraid, he never was. Fear would mean the devil had won, and he refused to let that vile creature bathe in the glory of success. His locked cell sat at the very end of the corridor, centred like a masterpiece of art to be explored beyond the triple locked vault door.

The door was unlocked, heavy bolts thudding into their sockets before the vault was pried open by two sets of strong hands. Faces covered by white fabric, their bodies were draped in drab white clothing; plain when pushed beside the doctor in a thick black lab coat who ruled over them.

Green eyes clashed viciously against dark brown, a war raging between them as the doctor stepped into the cell with his head held high.

He wasn't a doctor, he was a licensed criminal. A killer. And he wasn't afraid of snapping a few necks to get the results he desired.

"Get up." The doctor beckoned the patient with his left hand, a tattoo marking of the laboratory's logo inked into his tanned skin.

He sold his soul to work for evil, and he enjoyed every cruel unethical second of it.

His hand lowered and he lifted his head up slightly, staring Michael down like a worthless bug.

"Are we doing this the hard way again?" The doctor threatened.

"Fuck you." Michael hissed viciously, a wild animal that would fight until his dying breath. He curled against the padded wall, feral gaze locked on the doctor.

The badge on the doctor's coat glinted in the light, a glimmer of the name 'HOOD', as he lunged for the patient. Two guards grabbed Michael's arms and hauled him violently to his feet while the doctor's large hand wrapped mercilessly around his throat—holding him like a dying fish out of water.

"We do this every time." The doctor growled, and Michael winced as a sharp needle pierced the skin of his neck. "And every time you lose."

The doctor stepped back, hand removing itself from the patient's bloodied throat while the two masked men held Michael still; waiting for a wave of temporary unconsciousness to encompass Michael. Vines of poisonous black thorns wrapping itself around his weak body, draining him of his life and taking the green glow from his eyes until he couldn't stay awake any longer.