The Doodler Origins

Tim.

Talking about my experience of this pain, it doesn't quite show the full extent of the pain I went through. But I'll do my best to tell you. <shhhrrreeeaaaasssshhp>
Pixel, stop eating while videotaping! Your shaking the camera! And making bad static noise!
Any ways.....

I wake up, strapped to a table. Just barely coming to, I get that much. I blink furiously, trying to focus my vision. What the hell happened? I cough, from the dust falling from the ceiling. I look around, and I am strapped to a table, with my hands cuffed, one cuff for each hand, attached to table legs on either side of the table. The same was said for my legs. I struggled against my bonds, and remembered what happened. Uncle Tim. Fucking uncle Tim. I thought I could trust that bastard then. Now, well, let's say, I don't visit his grave too often. As I recoiled my memory of the car kidnapping, it clicked. My dad was talking to Tim. MY DAD WAS TALKING TO TIM, AMD HAD HIM KIDNAP ME. Well, at least now I know how that l girl is, and at the moment, she could be in deep shit. I tried to open my mouth to yell for help, but, I found that my mouth had been duct taped, so I wasn't going to be telling any jokes for a awhile. Or much of anything for that matter. A few moments later, the man himself walked into the chamber. Tim smiled evilly as he turned on an overhead light that shined right into my eyes and made me flinch. "I see your awake, sleeping beauty." He said coolly. I tried to say something, but was confronted by the obstacle of the tape on my mouth. "What was that Sam? Here lemme help you clever girl." He said, and very slowly, he peeled the duct tape off, to ensure it hurt a lot, and for a long time. My lips felt raw once it was finally off. My lips trembled, unsure of what to do, or say. "Go on, what were you gonna say?" So I thought the first thing that came to mind.
"FUCK OFF YOU SHIT EATER!" I was surprised when the words came out of my mouth as well, but he backed away and said "now, that's no way to talk. I'll have to clean your mouth for that Samantha. My clever Sam." He went and grabbed a bar or soap from a counter I hadn't noticed before. I clamped my mouth shut, but he grabbed my jaw, and forced it open. The soap tasted awful, I tried to spit it out, but to no avail. "Now, I must say, I want to try something with your hair." He said."just a little trim." After he turned around, I spat the soap out of my mouth, hitting him in his lower back. I gagged for the residue was still in my mouth. He glared at me, looking at the soap next to me on the table. He brought forth a buzz cutter, and said, "Now let's have some fun with your hair, shall we?" His hand reached for my hair, my beautiful long silky hair. No no no, keep your filthy hands off my hair, I thought. The cutter spring to life, buzzing with noise. He takes my hair and pulls it, taught, tearing at my scalp. He jabbed the razor at my hair, and it cut, falling to the floor. Some cut, some got tangled in the blade, tugging this way and that, searing with pain. My beautiful hair on one side had been torn and knotted and destroyed on my right side. He kept at this until only an inch was left on the right side of my head. I cried, and my head ached. It felt like a bad, vivid, bad dream. He put down the buzz cutter. "Now, let's give you some tattoos, shall we?" He said, with a grin. From his table, he produces a rusty needle and ink type machine. I plead for him not to do this, but he's not listening. He brings the needle down onto my wrist.