Have you seen me? (Sarah Wolf) [GRAPHIC WARNING]
Apr 18, 2021 20:54:46 GMT -5
☠ VooDoo ☠ and Miss Michelle like this
Post by somethingwicked on Apr 18, 2021 20:54:46 GMT -5
The day had begun like any other. She had risen out of bed, pushing his arm off of her to do so. He was a needy little man, but he was wonderful and loving and all she had ever hoped he’d be, so she let tender moments like this slide. Mostly. Today. Lighting a cigarette, she cracked each of her toes on the $250 rug she had got for a quarter of that price by flirting with the saleswoman, and got herself ready for her day. There was much to do and none of it fun for normal people, but exhilarating for her. It was argument day.
She had quarterly profits to divulge to both Damon, that handsome bastard, and her brothers, those bastards sans handsomeness. Thankfully while red looked great on her, it didn’t look great on her excel spreadsheets or bank statement, so it was good that there was none. She popped a Nespresso pod in and flicked her ashes into the sink. She then grunted and ran the water to wash them away. Little mister housewife didn’t like that. Spent ten years in jail and came out a clean freak somehow. He says in jail there wasn’t much he could control so that became a big thing. Mother fucker this is her house, ain’t shit he can control here eihter. But she loved him so she did what she could. Or what she wanted to could. That differs on the day mostly, but today she was feeling generous. The nespresso was downed in almost a gulp, as the strength or the temperature was not something that was going to bother her. She placed her cup in the sink and ashed into it, grunting in disbelief that she did it again. Washing it away again, she bolted from the kitchen and into the downstairs bedroom, aka her closet. She picked out a very professional outfit and then immediately said ‘fuck that’ and grabbed an old ‘Black Sabbath’ T-shirt and a pair of jeans for the 19th century. The only thing on her that wasn’t faded where her addidas shoes which were whiter than the sun off fresh snow. She climbed into her mercedes and was off to start the day.
She thought about Murphy and how he would wake up, have his protein shake that was 90 percent banana, and then spend two hours complaining about heartburn before just taking a god damn pepcid. She thought about Shannon and how she had never wanted kids, but now that she had spent time with his, she was reconsidering. Life was good these days. It wasn’t always as good. Her childhood, her adolescent years, were tough. She had good people around her. People that cared. But she had never cared for so many people herself. And it was the best feeling ever. Life wasn’t just some spiraling black and gray feelings that came and went when they pleased anymore. There were brighter colors. Ones that looked like fireworks. And then in that moment all of those colors changed to red and blue. The kinds usually accompanied by sirens.
Pulling over to the side of the road, she expected them to pass her. And they did. But only one of them. It swerved in front of her and came to a stop inches from her front end. She reached for her phone but by the time she did, there was a gun drawn just outside her window, and a small, skinny little guy yelling for her to put her hands on the wheel. The next hour went faster than any time had ever gone by. One moment she was in her car on the way to her office, and the next she was in the back of a cop car, handcuffed far too tightly behind her back on the way to god knows where. One would assume that when picked up by cops, you’d be taken to a precinct. But something the cops had said made her feel like that wasn’t where they were going. What they had said was nothing. At all. No Miranda rights, no chit chat. They got her out of the car, handcuffed her, and put her in another. They barely looked at her. They also didn’t have body cams either. They didn’t let her take her phone, or purse. As far as she knew, the car was still running. In moments like this we decide who we are. Sarah Wolf decided then and there that if this was going to be her last day on earth, she was going to make sure it was one of the worst these assholes ever had.
She picked her feet up and kicked the cage between her and them, and it snapped off the roof, cutting both of the officers on the back of the head. The car swerved and went off road. She slid back and forth as the driver tried to correct the path of the vehicle with one hand while holding his bleeding head with the other. Sarah took her chance and laid down on the seat, hooking her foot on the door handle to keep herself from sliding. She pulled one foot behind her and squeezed it through the handcuffs. She then hooked that foot and repeated. She’d never complain about yoga pricing ever again, she thought as she sat up, just in time to see the driver and passenger ‘cop’ looking back. The car had come to a stop, and the two men were furious. She looked at one and then the other and then back again. And blew them a kiss.
In one fell swoop both of them got out of the car and walked to the back. The passenger opened his door and reached in, grabbing her arm, She spun around and threw her legs over his head, and pulled him in. She begin to choke him with her shin in his throat and the other behind his head, pulling him into her and adding pressure to his neck and throat. She was concentrating on the hold and enjoying the sight of his face going beet red, and didn’t hear the door open by her head. The next sound she heard was a thump, and it was the thump of a baton against her forehead. To her credit, she didn’t black out. She simply put her hands up and grabbed it as it came down again. The car not being the ideal environment for batting a woman in the head, she pulled him into the car and on top of her. As he falls, she opens her mouth and chomps down on the first thing she can. She was hoping for a penis, she’ll settle for a thigh.
As they struggled, the guy passing out between her legs somehow gets pulled away, and she follows after. She slides across the seat, not letting go of her teeth’s grip on the fleshy thigh of the officer on top of her. He yelps as she is ripped away and she takes parts of his pants and him with her. She flops out of the car and onto the pavement, hitting her head on the car on the way down. She then sees what has gotten her out of the car. Two more officers in a following vehicle have pulled over, and pulled the officer out. She sees the taser come, and the light swirls away like water down a drain.
She awakens in a dark room, her head pounding and one eye swollen shut, with the other throbbing despite the lack of light. Her jaw is tight, her cheek is swollen, which she’d discover because one of her teeth was lodged in it, and her shoulder was most likely broken, or at the least dislocated. Scanning the room for some sort of clue as to where she is, she discovers a single red light above her, most likely from a camera. And her hands, swollen and bloody, are chained to the table before her. The light came on, mere seconds after she came through, letting her know she was being watched. She wretched at the pain the light sent through her head, almost losing consciousness again as her body shirked so violently that the tooth in her cheek became dislodged and tumbled out of her now blood filled mouth.
Two agents walked in with their sleeves rolled up, gloves on their hands, and smiles on their face. She could see their lips move, and could hear them speaking but her ears were ringing from the pain that just shook her, and her vision was too blurry to see their lips, let alone how they were moving. They sat down across from her, and one of them snapped their fingers to try and see if she could focus. The other has a better idea, and cracks her in the side of the head, knocking her unconscious again, both laughing at how she slumps over. The one who hit her walks around her, and grabs her by the hair, pulling her head back as far as he can. He reaches into her mouth, and with his fingers alone pries a tooth straight from her mouth. Waking up with a blood curdling scream, she throws up again, this time with far more content of her veins than stomach. The two men are amused by her screams and tears, and return to sit down. She looks over them, barely conscious, barely there. The other agent reaches across the table and pops a small object in his hand, which wakes her up and causes her to scream even louder. The blood drips out of her mouth, and down her chin.
Agent A
“ Sarah. Let’s make this easy. You sign the confession, you go to jail. This all stops. “
Sarah’s head wobbles and she leans back in the chair. She snaps her head forward and sprays the two men with blood, trying to curse at them but barely making a sound besides a Yelp. The two men stand up and walk to the other side of the table. They each begin to punch her in the sides as hard as they can. Her face turns purple and she passes out, her head slamming against the desk as blood drips from her head in every way possible. But she isn’t out for long, as they pop another ammonia tube beneath her nose, she comes to life with a roar that is mostly silent and sounds painful to both those hearing it and her making it. Before she can get her bearings, her head is slammed into the desk, and a tooth flies from her mouth, this one from the front. She barely has the time to wince, as a sudden flow of liquid begins to run down her face. She doesn’t see where it’s coming from, but she can smell what it is, and it’s not water. She tries to fight back, but it’s a lost cause. There’s a hand holding her head still. As the liquid pools in her mouth, she tries to spit it out, but can’t due to her jaw being to tight against the table to move. The same hand that was holding her head grabs a handful of her hair, and lifts her head off the table, driving it back down with all of their might.
It’s days before she wakes up. And when she does, she’s in a hospital bed, handcuffed by both wrists. She attempts to scream but finds she can’t open her mouth. She tries again and again over and over and it only becomes more painful by the attempt. She turns her head to see a small mirror on the side of the bed. She sees her eye is packed with blood, her nose is broken, and her jaw is wired shut, with fresh blood running out of the corners of her mouth.
Dr. Fawler
“ Good morning, Mrs. Wolf. I am so pleased you’re still with us. Was touch and go there for a bit. I’m sure you’re in a tremendous amount of pain with your injuries including a fractured jaw, several broken ribs, a broken orbital bone, as well as a nasty infection in your cheek. We will be giving you antibiotics but unfortunately, no pain meds. See, our gracious host has asked that you remain lucid as possible. And he’s not the type who likes being told no. As I am sure you are now aware. That is, unless you sign the confession. You go to jail, three hots and a cot. But if you wish to be stubborn, well. I would say that my professional medical advice is to sign it, and move on with your life. While you have one worth keeping.“
The doctor places the confession on a small table on wheels and pushes it toward Sarah. As he goes to place a pen in her hand, she quickly grabs his hand and begins to dig her nails into the back of his hand. Catching a vein she begins to press harder, a stream of dark red blood squeezing out as the doctor yells and she screams. A man steps into the room and runs over, she hears the taser again and it all goes black.
The next thing she knows, she’s coming out of a daze. The same burning in her nostrils as before. She keeps hoping she’ll get used to that, at least. But it seems all hope is indeed lost. She hears snapping of fingers and tries to adjust her one good eye to see who is doing it. The doctor, whose hand now bandaged, holds out a pair of needle nose pliers in his unharmed hand, and smiles.
Dr. Fawler
“Good. You’re awake. I’d hate for you to miss this. I have a philosophy. When someone uses something against you, it’s best to take it away from them however you can. Once I divorced my wife simply because she threatened to leave me. I used a lawyer who is very good. Today, I am going to use these pliers. I’d tell you to hold still, but that won’t be an issue. ”
Sarah looked down at her arm to see a fresh IV tap. The tube lead up to a hanging bag that was left, purposefully, in her line of sight. ‘Droperidol’ the bag reads.
Dr. Fawler
“Lovely isn’t it? Droperidol is usually used with a narcotic for pain relief. But you won’t be needing that. You’ll be wanting it. Starting right now.”
The doctor smiles, and picks up her hand. He holds out her pinky finger, and raises the pliers slowly. Sarah tries to move, she tries to scream, but she can’t do either. All she can do is watch. Watch as her pinky finger rips from the flesh, and the blood pours out. She closes her eyes tightly, desperate to not exist but settling for not having to watch. He solves that issue for her, too. Grabbing an eye speculum, he forces the eye that isn’t sealed shut open. He smiles as she begins to cry.
Dr. Fawler
“There. That’s better.”
The pliers go back up, and moving much quicker, Fawler rips her ring finger nail off, but with his force he leaves half of it hanging on. He plays with the nail for a bit, twisting and pulling at it ever so slightly but forcefully. Until he tears it off with his fingers. Sarah’s head falls to the side, having passed out. Her eyelids still separated by the speculum, her eye rolls into the back of her head. She comes to a moment later, her head heavy and her hearing barely there. She looks around to see the doctor washing his hands. She then looks down to see her own hands. The only fingernails missing are the pinky and the ring finger. The doctor turns and looks at her, and a smile inches across his face.
Dr. Fawler
“Ah good. As I said. I’d hate for you to miss this.”
And that is how the rest of her day went. He’d pull a nail or two, and she’d lose consciousness. Until he got to the last 3. Suddenly she couldn’t pass out. Suddenly all she could do is feel the scream trapped in her throat as she watched him rip away the last three nails. He had lined them all up on a surgical tray to the left, and had put them in order. He pulled off his gloves, and walked over to the counter. He picked up a bottle of vodka, and opened it. He held the bottle up and with a smile, said ‘salute’ and then began to dump the contents onto Sarah’s hands. The red blood went pink as it ran down onto the white sheet covering her legs. He took the last sip of the vodka, and grabbed the pliers as Sarah silently yelled and begged for reprieve that she knew would not come.
Dr. Fawler
“Ok. Lets get the toes now.”
She did not pass out. She did not lose a second of consciousness. Sarah Wolf watched in horror as he removed her toenails, one by one, and sometimes, half by half. All the while referring to them as ‘little piggies.’ and when the littlest pig was reached, he’d run his hand up her leg, and into her crotch, jabbing her with the pliers. In truth he had been pinching her labia with them, but with all of the other pain, she could hardly tell.
Dr. Fawler
“I seem to have run out of vodka. But I’m sure the kitchen has lemon juice. Give me just a moment. Or do you want to confess to what you’ve done?”
Trying to speak, she wanted to say she would. She’d sign whatever they wanted, she just wanted the pain to stop. She’d rather be dead than go through this anymore. But even if she could talk, she knew he was going to do this anyway. Fuck his satisfaction. She said no the only way she could, by moving her eyeball side to side. He laughed, and she used her eye to silently instruct him to go and get the fucking lemon juice. And he did.
Dr. Fawler for all of his creativity in solving the Sarah situation was less successful than he had hoped, and due to either a scheduling conflict, or a lack of ability to continue, left soon after. He had sliced the skin beneath her toes, and in between her fingers with a razor thin wire first. To which Sarah never made a sound.
She was moved from this area to a small cell somewhere on the same property. The cell had no bed, nor toilet. It had a drain that would not release what was put in it until someone on the outside toggled it to do so. If she pissed, they’d often wait until it overflowed and ran onto the floor before allowing it to be drained. When she shit, which wasn’t very often thanks to the lack of food, it would stay there for hours, sometimes days. Her food consisted of a bottle of water, and stale bread, so when she did shit it was mostly water anyway, which would be treated the same way as the piss. She was throwing up or wretching on the hour, and that was when they were leaving her alone.
Every day. Three times a day. Two guards would come in, they would assault her, they would tase her, and humiliate her. In the beginning, they would have their way with her. Sometimes they took turns. Sometimes they went at the same time. Sometimes one would just watch. Sometimes one would have his fun while the other one beat her. It was always changing. But one thing was not. Each time that door opened. She stood up. And she fought back.
She’d broken several noses, bit out parts of their faces and shoulders, and gouged a half a dozen eyes. She was swore she broke a jaw, which considering how weak she was, was a badge of honor. The following day was particularly rough but she had earned that, at least. She would do her best to earn more, too. So She fought. She always fought. But they always won.
Time having ceased to exist, she began to beg for an end. Let them mess up. Let them kill her by accident. Let them let her go, she begged any god that might listen. But no god showed. No devil, nor demon. No one came, because no one knew. They all knew she was gone. But not one knew where she was, or what they’d done to her. What they’d continue to do. And then one day, after months of suffering, bleeding, crying, screaming and agony, the guards never came. The beatings never began. The food wasn’t thrown through a slot. One day, the door opened. And the light came in. and suddenly, her fight was over. And it was over with a -
[/ul][/b][/font]She had quarterly profits to divulge to both Damon, that handsome bastard, and her brothers, those bastards sans handsomeness. Thankfully while red looked great on her, it didn’t look great on her excel spreadsheets or bank statement, so it was good that there was none. She popped a Nespresso pod in and flicked her ashes into the sink. She then grunted and ran the water to wash them away. Little mister housewife didn’t like that. Spent ten years in jail and came out a clean freak somehow. He says in jail there wasn’t much he could control so that became a big thing. Mother fucker this is her house, ain’t shit he can control here eihter. But she loved him so she did what she could. Or what she wanted to could. That differs on the day mostly, but today she was feeling generous. The nespresso was downed in almost a gulp, as the strength or the temperature was not something that was going to bother her. She placed her cup in the sink and ashed into it, grunting in disbelief that she did it again. Washing it away again, she bolted from the kitchen and into the downstairs bedroom, aka her closet. She picked out a very professional outfit and then immediately said ‘fuck that’ and grabbed an old ‘Black Sabbath’ T-shirt and a pair of jeans for the 19th century. The only thing on her that wasn’t faded where her addidas shoes which were whiter than the sun off fresh snow. She climbed into her mercedes and was off to start the day.
She thought about Murphy and how he would wake up, have his protein shake that was 90 percent banana, and then spend two hours complaining about heartburn before just taking a god damn pepcid. She thought about Shannon and how she had never wanted kids, but now that she had spent time with his, she was reconsidering. Life was good these days. It wasn’t always as good. Her childhood, her adolescent years, were tough. She had good people around her. People that cared. But she had never cared for so many people herself. And it was the best feeling ever. Life wasn’t just some spiraling black and gray feelings that came and went when they pleased anymore. There were brighter colors. Ones that looked like fireworks. And then in that moment all of those colors changed to red and blue. The kinds usually accompanied by sirens.
Pulling over to the side of the road, she expected them to pass her. And they did. But only one of them. It swerved in front of her and came to a stop inches from her front end. She reached for her phone but by the time she did, there was a gun drawn just outside her window, and a small, skinny little guy yelling for her to put her hands on the wheel. The next hour went faster than any time had ever gone by. One moment she was in her car on the way to her office, and the next she was in the back of a cop car, handcuffed far too tightly behind her back on the way to god knows where. One would assume that when picked up by cops, you’d be taken to a precinct. But something the cops had said made her feel like that wasn’t where they were going. What they had said was nothing. At all. No Miranda rights, no chit chat. They got her out of the car, handcuffed her, and put her in another. They barely looked at her. They also didn’t have body cams either. They didn’t let her take her phone, or purse. As far as she knew, the car was still running. In moments like this we decide who we are. Sarah Wolf decided then and there that if this was going to be her last day on earth, she was going to make sure it was one of the worst these assholes ever had.
She picked her feet up and kicked the cage between her and them, and it snapped off the roof, cutting both of the officers on the back of the head. The car swerved and went off road. She slid back and forth as the driver tried to correct the path of the vehicle with one hand while holding his bleeding head with the other. Sarah took her chance and laid down on the seat, hooking her foot on the door handle to keep herself from sliding. She pulled one foot behind her and squeezed it through the handcuffs. She then hooked that foot and repeated. She’d never complain about yoga pricing ever again, she thought as she sat up, just in time to see the driver and passenger ‘cop’ looking back. The car had come to a stop, and the two men were furious. She looked at one and then the other and then back again. And blew them a kiss.
In one fell swoop both of them got out of the car and walked to the back. The passenger opened his door and reached in, grabbing her arm, She spun around and threw her legs over his head, and pulled him in. She begin to choke him with her shin in his throat and the other behind his head, pulling him into her and adding pressure to his neck and throat. She was concentrating on the hold and enjoying the sight of his face going beet red, and didn’t hear the door open by her head. The next sound she heard was a thump, and it was the thump of a baton against her forehead. To her credit, she didn’t black out. She simply put her hands up and grabbed it as it came down again. The car not being the ideal environment for batting a woman in the head, she pulled him into the car and on top of her. As he falls, she opens her mouth and chomps down on the first thing she can. She was hoping for a penis, she’ll settle for a thigh.
As they struggled, the guy passing out between her legs somehow gets pulled away, and she follows after. She slides across the seat, not letting go of her teeth’s grip on the fleshy thigh of the officer on top of her. He yelps as she is ripped away and she takes parts of his pants and him with her. She flops out of the car and onto the pavement, hitting her head on the car on the way down. She then sees what has gotten her out of the car. Two more officers in a following vehicle have pulled over, and pulled the officer out. She sees the taser come, and the light swirls away like water down a drain.
She awakens in a dark room, her head pounding and one eye swollen shut, with the other throbbing despite the lack of light. Her jaw is tight, her cheek is swollen, which she’d discover because one of her teeth was lodged in it, and her shoulder was most likely broken, or at the least dislocated. Scanning the room for some sort of clue as to where she is, she discovers a single red light above her, most likely from a camera. And her hands, swollen and bloody, are chained to the table before her. The light came on, mere seconds after she came through, letting her know she was being watched. She wretched at the pain the light sent through her head, almost losing consciousness again as her body shirked so violently that the tooth in her cheek became dislodged and tumbled out of her now blood filled mouth.
Two agents walked in with their sleeves rolled up, gloves on their hands, and smiles on their face. She could see their lips move, and could hear them speaking but her ears were ringing from the pain that just shook her, and her vision was too blurry to see their lips, let alone how they were moving. They sat down across from her, and one of them snapped their fingers to try and see if she could focus. The other has a better idea, and cracks her in the side of the head, knocking her unconscious again, both laughing at how she slumps over. The one who hit her walks around her, and grabs her by the hair, pulling her head back as far as he can. He reaches into her mouth, and with his fingers alone pries a tooth straight from her mouth. Waking up with a blood curdling scream, she throws up again, this time with far more content of her veins than stomach. The two men are amused by her screams and tears, and return to sit down. She looks over them, barely conscious, barely there. The other agent reaches across the table and pops a small object in his hand, which wakes her up and causes her to scream even louder. The blood drips out of her mouth, and down her chin.
Agent A
“ Sarah. Let’s make this easy. You sign the confession, you go to jail. This all stops. “
Sarah’s head wobbles and she leans back in the chair. She snaps her head forward and sprays the two men with blood, trying to curse at them but barely making a sound besides a Yelp. The two men stand up and walk to the other side of the table. They each begin to punch her in the sides as hard as they can. Her face turns purple and she passes out, her head slamming against the desk as blood drips from her head in every way possible. But she isn’t out for long, as they pop another ammonia tube beneath her nose, she comes to life with a roar that is mostly silent and sounds painful to both those hearing it and her making it. Before she can get her bearings, her head is slammed into the desk, and a tooth flies from her mouth, this one from the front. She barely has the time to wince, as a sudden flow of liquid begins to run down her face. She doesn’t see where it’s coming from, but she can smell what it is, and it’s not water. She tries to fight back, but it’s a lost cause. There’s a hand holding her head still. As the liquid pools in her mouth, she tries to spit it out, but can’t due to her jaw being to tight against the table to move. The same hand that was holding her head grabs a handful of her hair, and lifts her head off the table, driving it back down with all of their might.
It’s days before she wakes up. And when she does, she’s in a hospital bed, handcuffed by both wrists. She attempts to scream but finds she can’t open her mouth. She tries again and again over and over and it only becomes more painful by the attempt. She turns her head to see a small mirror on the side of the bed. She sees her eye is packed with blood, her nose is broken, and her jaw is wired shut, with fresh blood running out of the corners of her mouth.
Dr. Fawler
“ Good morning, Mrs. Wolf. I am so pleased you’re still with us. Was touch and go there for a bit. I’m sure you’re in a tremendous amount of pain with your injuries including a fractured jaw, several broken ribs, a broken orbital bone, as well as a nasty infection in your cheek. We will be giving you antibiotics but unfortunately, no pain meds. See, our gracious host has asked that you remain lucid as possible. And he’s not the type who likes being told no. As I am sure you are now aware. That is, unless you sign the confession. You go to jail, three hots and a cot. But if you wish to be stubborn, well. I would say that my professional medical advice is to sign it, and move on with your life. While you have one worth keeping.“
The doctor places the confession on a small table on wheels and pushes it toward Sarah. As he goes to place a pen in her hand, she quickly grabs his hand and begins to dig her nails into the back of his hand. Catching a vein she begins to press harder, a stream of dark red blood squeezing out as the doctor yells and she screams. A man steps into the room and runs over, she hears the taser again and it all goes black.
The next thing she knows, she’s coming out of a daze. The same burning in her nostrils as before. She keeps hoping she’ll get used to that, at least. But it seems all hope is indeed lost. She hears snapping of fingers and tries to adjust her one good eye to see who is doing it. The doctor, whose hand now bandaged, holds out a pair of needle nose pliers in his unharmed hand, and smiles.
Dr. Fawler
“Good. You’re awake. I’d hate for you to miss this. I have a philosophy. When someone uses something against you, it’s best to take it away from them however you can. Once I divorced my wife simply because she threatened to leave me. I used a lawyer who is very good. Today, I am going to use these pliers. I’d tell you to hold still, but that won’t be an issue. ”
Sarah looked down at her arm to see a fresh IV tap. The tube lead up to a hanging bag that was left, purposefully, in her line of sight. ‘Droperidol’ the bag reads.
Dr. Fawler
“Lovely isn’t it? Droperidol is usually used with a narcotic for pain relief. But you won’t be needing that. You’ll be wanting it. Starting right now.”
The doctor smiles, and picks up her hand. He holds out her pinky finger, and raises the pliers slowly. Sarah tries to move, she tries to scream, but she can’t do either. All she can do is watch. Watch as her pinky finger rips from the flesh, and the blood pours out. She closes her eyes tightly, desperate to not exist but settling for not having to watch. He solves that issue for her, too. Grabbing an eye speculum, he forces the eye that isn’t sealed shut open. He smiles as she begins to cry.
Dr. Fawler
“There. That’s better.”
The pliers go back up, and moving much quicker, Fawler rips her ring finger nail off, but with his force he leaves half of it hanging on. He plays with the nail for a bit, twisting and pulling at it ever so slightly but forcefully. Until he tears it off with his fingers. Sarah’s head falls to the side, having passed out. Her eyelids still separated by the speculum, her eye rolls into the back of her head. She comes to a moment later, her head heavy and her hearing barely there. She looks around to see the doctor washing his hands. She then looks down to see her own hands. The only fingernails missing are the pinky and the ring finger. The doctor turns and looks at her, and a smile inches across his face.
Dr. Fawler
“Ah good. As I said. I’d hate for you to miss this.”
And that is how the rest of her day went. He’d pull a nail or two, and she’d lose consciousness. Until he got to the last 3. Suddenly she couldn’t pass out. Suddenly all she could do is feel the scream trapped in her throat as she watched him rip away the last three nails. He had lined them all up on a surgical tray to the left, and had put them in order. He pulled off his gloves, and walked over to the counter. He picked up a bottle of vodka, and opened it. He held the bottle up and with a smile, said ‘salute’ and then began to dump the contents onto Sarah’s hands. The red blood went pink as it ran down onto the white sheet covering her legs. He took the last sip of the vodka, and grabbed the pliers as Sarah silently yelled and begged for reprieve that she knew would not come.
Dr. Fawler
“Ok. Lets get the toes now.”
She did not pass out. She did not lose a second of consciousness. Sarah Wolf watched in horror as he removed her toenails, one by one, and sometimes, half by half. All the while referring to them as ‘little piggies.’ and when the littlest pig was reached, he’d run his hand up her leg, and into her crotch, jabbing her with the pliers. In truth he had been pinching her labia with them, but with all of the other pain, she could hardly tell.
Dr. Fawler
“I seem to have run out of vodka. But I’m sure the kitchen has lemon juice. Give me just a moment. Or do you want to confess to what you’ve done?”
Trying to speak, she wanted to say she would. She’d sign whatever they wanted, she just wanted the pain to stop. She’d rather be dead than go through this anymore. But even if she could talk, she knew he was going to do this anyway. Fuck his satisfaction. She said no the only way she could, by moving her eyeball side to side. He laughed, and she used her eye to silently instruct him to go and get the fucking lemon juice. And he did.
Dr. Fawler for all of his creativity in solving the Sarah situation was less successful than he had hoped, and due to either a scheduling conflict, or a lack of ability to continue, left soon after. He had sliced the skin beneath her toes, and in between her fingers with a razor thin wire first. To which Sarah never made a sound.
She was moved from this area to a small cell somewhere on the same property. The cell had no bed, nor toilet. It had a drain that would not release what was put in it until someone on the outside toggled it to do so. If she pissed, they’d often wait until it overflowed and ran onto the floor before allowing it to be drained. When she shit, which wasn’t very often thanks to the lack of food, it would stay there for hours, sometimes days. Her food consisted of a bottle of water, and stale bread, so when she did shit it was mostly water anyway, which would be treated the same way as the piss. She was throwing up or wretching on the hour, and that was when they were leaving her alone.
Every day. Three times a day. Two guards would come in, they would assault her, they would tase her, and humiliate her. In the beginning, they would have their way with her. Sometimes they took turns. Sometimes they went at the same time. Sometimes one would just watch. Sometimes one would have his fun while the other one beat her. It was always changing. But one thing was not. Each time that door opened. She stood up. And she fought back.
She’d broken several noses, bit out parts of their faces and shoulders, and gouged a half a dozen eyes. She was swore she broke a jaw, which considering how weak she was, was a badge of honor. The following day was particularly rough but she had earned that, at least. She would do her best to earn more, too. So She fought. She always fought. But they always won.
Time having ceased to exist, she began to beg for an end. Let them mess up. Let them kill her by accident. Let them let her go, she begged any god that might listen. But no god showed. No devil, nor demon. No one came, because no one knew. They all knew she was gone. But not one knew where she was, or what they’d done to her. What they’d continue to do. And then one day, after months of suffering, bleeding, crying, screaming and agony, the guards never came. The beatings never began. The food wasn’t thrown through a slot. One day, the door opened. And the light came in. and suddenly, her fight was over. And it was over with a -
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