Scapegoat


Warning: has disturbing imagery that young children would not like.


He had a firm hold on my hair, fists tight and seemingly ready to tear my own head off. Laughing with a crooked mouth he was, though I couldn't see anything. The visuals were black, hints of light running like water through the old and damp cloth. A damp hold on my hair remained still. The air was whirring like a fan. The ropes overtaking my wrists held me constricted and still on the chair.

He was circling me with such a strut, such a full sound of pride that it made my teeth grit. He smelled like coffee beans and sweat, like rubber and coal. I jerked in my seat, the bounds still binding me and holding my freedom within it's thick brown threads.

"W-what are you going to do with me?" My lips are split from gnawing on them nervously.

He stopped walking in vulture's circles around me and walked further away. I heard the faint noise of steel rubbing together, humming a metallic note. My eyes widened behind the blindfold, my body trembling as tears started to roll down my face.

"I've been watching you for a long time," he said, and he sounded old and gentle. His voice is what made him seem so innocent when he followed me home to ask for directions. But now, he was completely opposite of what he was before.

After all, he had her here.

A faucet turned on, water rushing through the pipes. Was he cleaning torture tools? His hands caked by another's blood? Shivers ran up my spine to escape my upturned stomach. Chattering noises emitted from my teeth, clanking together and laughing at my grave misfortune.

"Please... I just wanna' go home..." I barely whispered inaudibly.

His footsteps came close, and he gripped my hair once more, smelling in it's deep smell of apricot and strawberries that were so contrasting to his own smell. I shivered at the touch, and tried to pull my head away.

He reached down at my thigh, and held a tight hold to the flab of skin on it's meaty exterior. It suddenly came over me... the feeling of horrified realization. I wanted to scream and move and run away. My legs were numb and unmoving, my arms pinned and sore.

"Please, don't!" I yelled, my voice filled with that desperation that only seemed to make him even more excited. He brought the scissors, cold, against my inner thigh, and slowly moved them up to the flesh he held between his fingers.

His fingers tightened on the handles as he slowly tore away the skin. My leg became overtaken with flames as my screams are unheard by others. He took my blindfold off with wet fingers, and I saw his face, handsome and demented, as he held the piece ripped from my body in front of my eyes in triumph.

"More to come, honey." he told me, and I struggled as webs of blood circled down my leg. I continued morbid cries and screams for help, begging anyone to help me. It all fell on his ears, and he frowned.

"You know, I'm getting sick of that scream. It's giving me a headache." His hand shot out like a snake for the kill, and held tightly to my bottom lip, it's quivering ceased by his tight hold between his thumb and index. He held up his scissors, the metal blades already doused in my claret.

He held them to my bottom lip, my head trying to avoid the blades that loomed and pinched delicately on the corner of my mouth. My pleas for him to stop meant nothing to him. My terrified cries were music to his ears.

My lower lip was tossed behind his back without even a worry or care.

My cries were muffled by flapping tissue and drowning blood, red dying my clothes and spraying on his face as he watched with delight only inches from my own. He was laughing at me, poking my raw wound and cackling like a hyena to its kill.

"How does it feel? Doesn't it just ache and hurt?" he asked, voice loud against my ringing ears.

The ground ran slick with blood by the end of his raid on my body, my head lolling against the chair. I looked up to the sound of rushing water.

He'd turned on the shower in the corner of the room, and was stripped down to nothing. His back faced me, many indented scars running down his spine and shoulder blades, many carressing his arms and legs, some of his toes long missing. He turned and looked at me, water running into the missing areas of skin that was present on his torso, his mutilated form frightening to the sight.

"How does it feel?"


Author's Notes: A terrible, terrible nightmare I had...