I would like to preface this by saying that cutting is not a good idea. I’m not a cutter myself, I understand that there must be some sort of adrenaline high that comes from it, but it is harmful to the body and should NOT be practised. If you are a cutter, I beg you to TELL someone.
Now, I would also like to say that this story was a nightmare I had. Now I don’t expect this to become some sort of franchise, my plan here is to introduce a character for a bigger project.
It being a dream, I believe I’ve had some time to kind of hash it out, so here it is:
Devon Thomas woke up to find himself tied to a metal chair in a white room. Legs were fastened tightly to the chair legs just as his arms were to the chair arms.
He saw no doors, nor windows, but logic told him he had entered somewhere, or rather someone had brought him inside somehow.
This had to be a joke, right? His buddies back at the dorm had to be yanking him, right?
They had gone drinking that Friday night and he knew he had probably, as always drank a little more than he should have. Knowing his friends hated it when he did that, they were probably just trying to scare him so bad that he would never drink again.
“Haha, guys,” he said, shifting his weight in the chair, “You got me, come on out and let me go.”
There was no answer. The room was empty. The only thing there besides the chair was the overhead light, embedded in the ceiling, shining down on him, illuminating the entire, empty, white, so far doorless and windowless room.
He struggled some more in the seat. The straps, or rather strips of duck tape wrapping around his arms, were so tight that he could barely shake them at all from the chair arm. The tape just squeezed tightly; he could feel his hands going numb they were so tight.
His legs were in no better position, only slightly more comfortable having a layer of denim separating the adhesive from his skin.
He turned his head. There had to be something behind him, some door, something to tell him where he was.
He jumped in the chair, turning himself a little at a time before he overdid it and landed on the side of his head. The good news was he turned around. The bad news was there was still no door.
Devon started to sweat, not only from the physical exertion of jumping, strapped down the way he was but also panic. His buddies couldn’t have done this. Where was he? Who did this?
There was a shhh noise coming from the wall he was now staring at. It opened, like a false wall opening up into some secret laboratory from all the old movies he watched.
In came a lovely, dark-haired woman with a man, perhaps her husband, and Devon couldn’t help but feel he knew her. Was she at the bar? Or a girl from class?
“Hello Devon, sweetheart,” she said, “Did you fall down?” She and the man righted him in his chair.
“Um, hi,” said Devon, “Did you guys put me here? I really need to get home, could you let me go?”
“Oh Devon, no,” she said, “You can’t leave yet. We need you and you did agree to this.”
“I what?”
“You signed the contract,” said the man smiling, “And boy were we relieved. We’ve been looking for someone for a while now. Our last one just kind of died after six years, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find someone who will agree to do… what you have graciously agreed to do for us.”
“What?” said Devon, panic seeped throughout his body.
“We’re cutters, Devon, but we can’t cut ourselves or each other, due to our jobs and status.” said the woman.
“We need it, Devon,” said the man, putting what could have been a fatherly gesture but given the circumstances…
“And with your signature, you have given us great joy again.”
“No!” Devon finally spoke out, “There’s been some mistake! I was drunk! I don’t remember any of this!”
“Oh Devon,” said the woman sitting on his lap, “There was no mistake.” She started nibbling on his ear and sticking her tongue inside. He squirmed and screamed.
“Oh,” said the man, “Sorry your screams really get me going. That’s why we didn’t gag you. I bet you were wondering.”
He pulled a broken pair of scissors out of his pocket, silver and sharp, looking more like daggers.
Devon screamed, “Help me! Please, somebody, help me!”
“No one can hear you, Devon,” said the woman as she muffled his screams with her tongue, and with a free hand taking one-half of the broken scissors.
“But don’t let that stop you,” said the man, “Your screams are really getting me off! Mmmmm, so good!”
The woman slid the dangerous side against Devon’s cheek. It burned, and he could feel the heat rising from his arm as the blood poured out.
The man licked Devon’s gaping wound while taking the other half and sawing Devon’s arm.
Slish, slash, slish, slash
It hurt. The woman let go of Devon’s mouth and grabbed his bleeding arm, rubbing the blood all in her hair and face.
The couple continued to cut and moan as Devon shrieked, but inside the empty room, no one could hear him scream.
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