An assignment for my English class after reading 1984 that I thought sufficiently disturbing. :P

Premise = A common prisoner's experience in room 101

Warning: Not for the faint of heart!

Box of Salt

Snap. A pair of hands smacks down on a surface in front of me, and I start into full consciousness at the nearness of the noise, eyes flickering uselessly under a rough blindfold. "Are you prepared to be cured?" The silken tones of the voice wash over me, at odds with the sharp motion of aggression its owner had just made.

Confused, I wriggle a bit in an attempt to feel out where I am. Restraining ropes bite into me immediately, and I tremble a bit with the sense that this musty-smelling room is not a place I should be. The blindfold makes me feel trapped inside my own body: as if the outside world is only partially real and I am only dreaming. "Yes," I spout obediently.

Snap. The crack of the slap echoes across the room that I cannot see. Room 101, if the guard that had knocked me unconscious was to be believed. It echoes throughout my body as well, leaving nothing untouched, and my bubble of unreality bursts. Ears straining to catch the smallest sound, I listen to the hiss of displaced air as the offending hand raises itself again; I involuntarily flinch, but I cannot move away. Yet the next contact lacks the violence of the previous, and resolves itself into a cold caress across one gaunt cheek.

"Believe it." The voice purrs.

Snap. The material of my tattered shirt gives way to an aggressive yank at its hem, leaving my torso bare. The dank air of the cell makes my flesh crawl, and footsteps swim around in my mind. A clatter rings out as something is removed from the tabletop. Frigid steel presses itself against my spine, stroking slowly across the skin of my back but not drawing blood. I strain forwards against my binds as my heart claws its way into my throat, but they are strong, and don't budge an inch. At its next pass, the honed edge of the blade

Sedlet 2

suddenly digs down, and the line of ice it had drawn down my spine bursts into a wire of searing heat. The cloying, metallic scent of blood fills my empty world, choking me with its presence as a low moan of pain tears itself from my constricting throat with each incision. The knife falls silently down… again… again…

A pause, as fingers sweetly trace each of the oozing lines across my trunk. Then… snap. Fingers flash from tenderness to savagery in an instant, digging deep into one of the fissures and tearing a chunk of scarred skin away from my body… A keening wail echoes through my sightless universe, and I know it belongs to me.

Graciously, the hand dabs at the beads of sweat on my forehead with a cloth as blood streams senselessly downwards and my face begins to go numb.

Snap. A container of some type is pulled open as the hands move away for an instant and I am left to breathe through the suffocating heat of my skinless back. When the hands return along with padded footsteps, they immediately move in to press into my exposed flesh.

Salt.

Fire flicks to ice, and ice burns like fire as the hands grind salt into the gaping wounds, wrangling a sound out of me that doesn't seem even remotely human.

"You know you can be saved. All you have to do is ask," the voice croons.

Snap. Another swath of skin is pulled away like a cobweb, exposing bone.

And suddenly, my will to survive isn't strong enough. My world is contained to touch, and nothing else is tangible, aside from the pain. The blindfold doesn't lift, and neither does the sickly dizziness in my head, but I can still see. A man stands before me, immaculately clean even though he too stands in the pool of my blood. I know who he is immediately, because he has always been watching me, even when I had so brazenly assumed he wasn't.

Sedlet 3

He says nothing. He simply extends his hand.

I don't hesitate. I take it.

Snap.

The lid on the box of salt is closed.

My mom thinks I'm disturbed. But I swear this is just a project! :O

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. :)