IRIS by Nick Whitesides

Author:Nick Whitesides [Whitesides, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-05-08T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

To the Slaughter

Where am I? Who am I? What’s my name? Oh well, I don’t care. Blissful ignorance submerges me into a perpetual state of oblivion. Eons pass before me while my consciousness drifts in and out. Over time, a faint bead appears out of nothing, illuminating brighter and brighter, pulling me close, bringing me back to awareness.

Loud clangs of metal ring in my ears along with hideous laughter. A grotesque symphony only heard in my nightmares. Feeling returns to my extremities. First as a tingle then as stinging needles pricking every inch of my body.

I’m hanging from my arms, my legs having gone limp. I open my eyes but everything is a fuzzy, gray swirl. Why is it so hard to keep my head up? I can only lift it for a moment until it falls again. So weak. Why can’t I remember? Where am I? What’s my name? I can’t remember my name!

It comes back to me in a sudden flash. Krys. My name is Krys. I escaped the Sphere. I was saved by Eli. The pain comes back just as swiftly with that same insidious laughter roaring from afar. I force my eyelids open, the swirl takes form into separate shapes.

There’s a long table directly to my right in front of cement stairs. Displayed on the table, are strange tools covered with red stains and small chunks of flesh. The pain intensifies as my fight or flight response activates.

I look up at my shackled wrists and struggle to break free.

“Wakey up sleepy head,” sings the voice, the demented lullaby making my skin crawl. A pasty skeletal face materializes just inches away from mine. I let out a violent cough as my lungs attempt to scream.

“Oh, there there, little lamb,” he says stroking my chest with his hand.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream, his stench worsening my nausea.

“Oh, you don’t like?” he asks, sliding his hand downwards toward my stomach.

He removes his hand as I dry heave involuntarily. “If you’re going to be rude, I no play nice anymore!” He slaps my cheek with the back of his hand.

With a huff, he walks to the table and picks up a small knife, placing it against my abdomen. So sharp, it even appears to slice the blood dripping on it. I turn away as the blade penetrates, my abuser giggling with manic joy.

I will myself to move, to fight, anything! But my body has no more energy. With the ghoul having chained me into a corner, I hang powerless to stop the dissection. All I can do is scream. He leaves deep gashes from the right side of my stomach, to the left shoulder.

“This is what happens when you not play nice.” He returns the knife to the table with a resounding slam. I look at myself in horror, the winding gap from the laceration oozing out blood. The shock must be improving my sight.

I see a slender man with pale skin, nearly naked except for a tattered pair of undergarments.

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