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 No.12962

He woke up dazed. Looking around the pale room, eyes heavy with distortion. Immediately his body recognized the horrible pain centered in his abdomen. Stretching his neck, he looked downward towards his chest and his feint breath died in his throat. His eye and neck muscles tensed and bulged as he fully realized his condition. His shallow breathing quickly escalating to short heavy huffs of air. His panic and terror was increasing rapidly. Tears began to form in his strained eyes, and he could feel the intense pressure in the back of his throat. A burning sensation began to ripple through his thoughts.

His body had been placed on a crude alter of an operating table. His hands bound with dusty moth riddled lace strips. His legs chained tightly to the operative table.
His wheezing chest cavity had been cut sloppily in large gash marks reminiscent of mortuary y-cuts. His sticky organs, littered in fragmented pieces of broken jagged ribcage, filled the cavernous orifice. Blood caked the prettily patterned bedding and coated his skin.
In the faint light that the room's small window provided, he could see the unmistakable shimmer of bright metallic glitter. Pink and sparkling. Reflecting dully, half covered in blood and hidden in the crevices of his chest. He could feel his blood draining from his body. He could hear it, had he listened closely enough. He closed his eyes and watched the familiar black swirls on the back of his eyelids.

His weak body. succumbing to infection, and blood loss. Slowly he felt the same slipping sensation that stole away his consciousness. He sputtered to breathe, hearing the rickety wet sounds his lungs must be producing.
And then he heard it.

The giggle.





It had indicated so much in it's short burst of intonation. High pitched and airy. Lithe and feminine.

The fear that gripped his muscles and forced his eyes to shut; now beckoned him to turn his head in both astonishment and curiosity towards the soft noise.
His eyes first rested on her small pouted mouth. She grinned a set of razor pearl razor teeth, and giggled lightly once more. Her hands gripped something soft and squishy, attached to bloodied cords of which he could not make out. She squeezed roughly.

He felt the tension and pressure from the long ligaments of flesh that attached him to that sticky piece she held. The burning of his skin, and the immense pressure built up beneath his eyes. He gripped loosely at the simple bindings digging into the smooth flesh of his wrists. He gagged and gasped for air. Rapid spurts of labored breathing escaped his mouth.

She held his stomach in her small delicate hands. His intestines stringing out over her palms, coating her pointed nails in dark fluid.
She released her grip and blood rushed to the area, flowing loosely and thickly out of his severed veins.
He groaned loudly, tears falling down the sides of his face and pooling on the decorative bedsheets.

"Finally you are up!" she beamed happily. Flashing a smile and a light wave of her fingers, which had been coated in viscous fluids. Her dark eyes then focused on his unceasingly.
Leaning closer towards him on the table, the ends of her hair touching broken ends of skin that had separated from muscle.
Closer she leaned, her short breath hitting his ear.
"You've slept through all the fuuuuuuuun", she said mockingly. Putting childish emphasis on the 'fun'.
She spoke slowly.

He instinctively started to whimper. Panicked gasps escaping his throat. His eyes tracing the familiar outline of the room. Noticing figures and black nothingness in tandem.
Small flashes of memories finally becoming readily tangible in his skull.

And he had remembered.
She was not his savior.
She was his captor.


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