Evening In The Chair

(A fictional super-short based on real events)

I laid there paralyzed. More by fear than the humming, trance inducing glare of the overhead light. The blue motorized reclining chair would have been comfortable what with the padded headrest if not for the circumstances then. I tried to speak, to protest but blood garbled the words into an incoherent foreign language devoid of proper vowels. And all the while she sat there right beside me. Cold eyes beneath dark rimmed glasses calculating her next move. One could almost hear the slopping of her lips in anticipation of what is to come from behind the pale white veil hiding her mouth. The machine then began purring as if confirming my fears that the worst is yet to come.

I should have heeded her warnings. Should have relented to her requests those many years ago. Back when things were manageable, when things were much simpler. But I was young, brash and understood not the full extent of the consequences then.

In that brief moment of respite my mind recounted of how I was greeted upon my return. "Have you been a good boy?" she asked then. Her voice stank of concern. False concern, augmented to conceal her sadistic motives. And yet I trusted her. I gave in. Perhaps thinking that I would be spared from her wrath. Hoping that admitting to one's mistakes would grant a much needed pardon.

I guess I was as much a fool now as I was then.

The machine's purring began to grow into a groan reminiscent of a starving beast. And she had begun stirring too, her hands reaching unto a cream colored table slightly beyond my sight. My eyes snapped shut, bracing for what was to come. The groans then were accompanied by a whirring that edged ever closer by the second. I did not wish to see, I did not wish to look. But it did not matter anyway.

Spinning metal met flesh. Tearing tissue, scraping bone.

I bled. I teared.

Excruciating was not even close to describing the torment I felt. My muscles tensed with every gnaw and each penetrating scrape. Seconds became minutes and minutes felt like hours. What little respite she gave in between only sought to worsen the pain. As if she wanted me to feel the aftermath before the onrushing of another storm.

"You can rinse now."

Words that presented much needed relief. And as I gargled and spewed out the blood, saliva and tartar stew that had formed in my mouth, I was hopeful that this was the end.

"You should brush harder next time. And try to get your gums too. Ready for me to do your upper part?"

My hope faded that very instant...........