Fear

Chapter 1

Chapter One

          His hands were cold, damp and slender as if he, himself were as dead as I felt. But he couldn’t have been. He was standing right in front of me with a silver razor that was burning my skin. His hands were all the skin I could see of him. I was screaming but he acted as if he was cutting the table under me instead of me. I felt like he was taking out my bones and replacing them with raw flesh and flames. Tears wailed down my face and my rib cage rattled uncontrollably. Famished and empty is how I felt, yet I swore only hours ago I was full feed and curling up in the super 8 in River grove Illinois. Now I was as cold as ice, with raw leather straps modeling me to what seemed to be a torcher table. I couldn’t remember how I got to where I was only that I once thought I was dreaming. Pain was not a dream, nor was I dreaming. The man had only ripped open my left arm, but the pain was deep enough that the shock wave encaged my whole body and mind. At first I wouldn’t cry, only scream. After a while blood was pouring down my arm and soaked the rest of me.my honey blond hair was matted and bloody. The pale man would stop and I would stop crying out. I would whimper and my whole body would shiver.

        He had stopped and looked me in the eye. This time he didn’t get right back to it. He just stood there and unbuttoned ever button on he’s long trench coat. When he was done he let the coat drop to the floor and I held back a scream. His whole body was covered in long black scars. Some looked as if they were new others old. His flesh was rotting off his bones which in some cases you could see. His eyes were pale green indicating he was blind. He pretty much looked like he had just lifted out the grave after a half year burning in the hellfire of death. There was a sink in the corner across for the one that the table sat in. It had a mirror over it. He put his hands on the sinks and glanced in the mirror for only a second. Shaking his head he stood taller and then rushed over to me.  He quickly put his hand on my chest.

          Everything went spinning. I couldn’t focus on anything. Only the pain was constituent. It was worse than before, it was like tiny needles that were just took out of an inferno of flaming gold. Then all of the needles were spit fired into my nerves. After what seemed hours I reopened my eyes to see the man. But strangely. He was a boy. Only a boy, about my age and he looked as if he was in enough pain if not more than me. He’s faced turned toward me.

         Since he wasn’t a zombie like person he looked different. It was like he had someone else’s skin on before. Now his hair a malty toned brown and his green eyes were glowing instead of pale and blind. He wasn’t very tall or buff but he wasn’t a twig either. His white V-neck t-shirt was covered in blood both mine and his. Lastly he wasn’t as scared as before. Before he didn’t seem to have any expressions. He stopped and lifted his bare hand from my chest.  Beginning to pace he looked me in the eye. Soon he stopped and looked at me as if somehow, some way something wasn’t right. To me he looked like he was being forced to torcher me. I was telling myself this as he paced. As he stood there he seemed to notice my empathy for him. Then he spoke. It seemed like the first words I had heard in a life time. “Can you hear me?” he said still glaring at me with confusion. I reluctantly nodded, sure I could hear him what did that matter.  

     He quickly glided over and suddenly started to undo the leather straps. “What do I look like?” he asked. Being as I am, I had to answer sarcastically.

“Like a zombie and some parts of you have no flesh, you look like you’re a hundred years old.” His face dropped. “I was kidding you look normal. Well not at first but ever since you stopped using the knife you look somewhat better.” He finished with the bindings and I dropped to my feet. I rubbed my wrist and finally glanced at my left arm. It was bloody and so torn that I thought I was going to have to cut it off. I then slowly slid to the floor and fell victim to the sitting fettle position. I never thought of myself as someone who would break down and cry, but this seemed like acceptation. The boy was sitting holding his knees a couple feet in front of me.