Pretty Little Puppets

 

My eyes flutter open to a dismal room, stark and grey. I attempt to stand, but find that I'm strapped to a table. An operating table. Silver buckles dig into my raw flesh, piercing the skin when I struggle to move. I am completely immobolized, bare legs secured and naked chest tied tight. A heavy steel door moans as it's forced open, letting in the only light besides the pale moon beams shining in though the grimy window.

He approaches me, and I breathe a sigh of relief, "Alex" I wince as I whisper his name, the metal digging into my shoulders. But he ignores me, crazed eyes scanning my body. He thrusts his hand into a pocket, retrieving a single razor blade. "You know, you were never very pretty, my love." he hisses, almost menacingly, "But I could make you beautiful. A pretty little puppet."

He closes the space between us swiftly, a maniacal grin dancing on his lips. I can't bring myself to scream as he dangles the blade over my face. I find myself trusting him irrevocably, even with my life balanced in his palm. He loves me, he's told me so many times before. He'd never hurt me.

Slowly, he lowers his face to mine, brushing his frozen lips against my own. They're cold and hard, like ice pressed against my mouth. Suddenly, his eyes narrow, glare returning and he straightens. "Such a pretty little puppet." he murmers, his lilting voice echoing off the stone walls.

In a flash, the glinting metal is brought down on my face tearing at the corner of my mouth, where phantom traces of his lips remain. It's a searing pain, like a knife passed through flames is being dragged across my flesh. An unfamiliar burning lights up my cheek as I feel skin seperate. My blood is flowing freely now, coating my chin in crimson before continuing down my chest and splashing to the ground. I feel my head go light, my knees shake and my mind swims. It's a familiar sensation, the loss of too much blood. But my mind refuses to give in to the comforting nothingness.

He's carving my body now, gashing wildly as my rust colored blood spatter him and the ground around us. My blood is pouring from me, pooling at his ankles, yet my mind still fights against the darkness.

The blade, more ruby than silver, has carved my other cheek too, twisting my mouth into a permanent scarlet smile. Now it traces my scar, one of the only scars made for my own good. It runs along the thin white line, between my breasts, and he sinks his claws into my chest. I struggle to breathe as he peels my skin away from my ribs. Carefully, he plucks my heart out of my crimson-bathed chest, fingernails severing my heart strings. Eyes rolling back in his skull, he opens his mouth. No, it's not him. He isn't this monster. He can't be. But I've watched the transformation take place right in front of me. His jaw opens so wide, it's a wonder he doesn't consume me entirely. It's a cavern, a lightless abyss. He slips my heart between cracked lips, swallowing it whole. There's no teeth left in his dark-filled maw to chew with anyway.

I don't have a minute to wonder how I'm still living, my heart no longer in me, before he forces a handful of cotton into my chest. He fills me with tissue swiftly, before running a rotted finger along my old scar. A new one forms, messily stitching my skin back together.

He continues, slicing and chopping at every part of my body. He tears open my stomach, taking pleasure in wrapping my own intestine around my neck before slurping into a bottomless belly. Stuffing me full of fluff after every slice, I begin to feel like an overgrown stuffed animal. Grotesque and disturbing, like a fair prize, forgotten and left to decay.

He traces my self-made scars, blade feeling familiar on my thighs. My veins, popping out, pale blue on my wrists and followed by the razor too. My blood covers every inch of the floor, but I no longer feel weak as the cotton envelopes every crevice of my body.

"Such a pretty little puppet. Pretty puppet." His sing-song voice scratches at my eardrums as he closes the last wound. For his final step, he pulls a rope out from behind him. No, not a rope, I see. A noose. He holds it out for me, gesturing that I take it. Complyingly, I slip the rope around my neck and he releases me from my restraints. Broken of my will, my choice striped from me, stolen like my blood, I follow his every command. For the first time, dim lights flicker on. Lining every wall, dangling the rafters are hundreds of his "puppets".

I clamber upon a stool, secure my rope alongside the others and kick away my stand. I plummet for a short time, before the noose snags, and I bounce, neck burning in pain. I want to scream out, but you've stitched my lips together. Rope digs into my flesh, and tears fall steadily. I hang, unable to die and devoid of my will.

Next to me, a young girl slowly turns her head, attached to her neck only by a set of messy black stitches. Her eyes have been replaced by marbles, but her mouth, free of scars, portrays her terror. "Master would like us to sing." she declares, hoarse whisper setting my hair on end. Her moving lips send her hanging corpse into a tremor, limp feet flopping sickeningly.

                         "Pretty little puppets, hang in a line.
                         Master says we're pretty. Master says we're fine.
                         These little scars and this cotton gives us life.
                         Let us thank Master. Let us thank his knife."

Reviews

[Elvina CZq]

Such intensity I feel in here. I was trying hard not to put those images in my head. I could feel the tortures crawling up my skin. And I have to admit, it's very disturbing. Especially the last paragraph, and the four lines song, really captured the situation well. I do agree with Coyote Poetry. This story has a potential to expand with more detail. You might able to describe more about the characters in here, express how and why the characters feel and own the desires to torture and be tortured.

You are a very talented writer. That are only my opinion and suggested. All in all, you've written greatly.

[Ultimagna]

Nicelly done, dark and deep. Assuming your looking for some constructive critisism, I would say to slow down. There were so many great oppertunities for description, feeling the cotton being forced inside her, soaking up her blood. But the simplicity in itself is powerfull.
A reason for their surviving might be interesting, perhaps the marbles arn't marbles.
In any case, fantastic work.

[Ruth]

This is so consuming! Every part of it led me down several paths! Interesting work....surreal and dark...powerful work love xx

[DeathByChoice]

Woooahh, Creepy. I like it!
It's a little strange that they live after all their organs are eaten by Alex (great idea by the way with the jaw thing) but otherwise nicely done! :D

[RaynesMelody]

This i sooo creepy. I was convinced that I could see this happening for a while. Well done :)

[Numb]

Whoa, now that, was creepy ^^ And sketchy, and freaky, but utterly, epically, beyond awesome xD I actually found myself trying to sing the little puppet song!
I loved it, I loved everything about it ^^
The imagery was amazing, and you told the story with such grotesque necessary detail. It was eerie, and I could very much imagine this becoming some tale that could be published in a spook's book.
Words flowed together in elegance, and wrapped the story in black lace.

You've proven yourself excellent.

~N~

[HorrorMaster]

Very intense story which I love it. :)

[Sean M. Addams]

liked this alot the detail in this piece was quite creepy and cool... overall i thought you did a great job on this..liked the poem at the end alot..

[deeps]

Awesome write!
I love the closing poem 'Amazing!
This is a wonderful write here. I throughly enjoyed this.

[Coyote Poetry]

This is a powerful and hard story. You brought me into the story with strong statements and will written story. I could feel the pain and suffering in this poem. I like your set-up of the story. You need to expand. Could be a intense story with more detail and chapters.
Coyote