MicroHorror

He’s drugged me. I can’t move. Lying on his bed. Naked. He’s wearing a jumpsuit, I think. Blue. My eyes are burning. I can’t close them. How did I get here?

I was at a bar. Alone. I admit it, I was looking for sex. He showed interest. We went back to his place for a nightcap. I knew that meant sex. That was what I wanted, so I eagerly went with him, in his car. I don’t even remember what make it was. He offered me a drink. Something mixed. I can’t remember that, either. As he prepared it, I studied his apartment. It felt so sterile. No personality. He returned with my drink. He had a beer. We toasted. We drank. Then we sat on his couch. We talked about stuff I can’t remember. The usual stuff, waiting for that moment to embrace. We moved closer and closer as we spoke. His hand on my shoulder. A kiss. I closed my eyes.

My head began to spin. Was this ecstasy? I wanted to hold him, squeeze him, caress him, but my body would not obey my commands. I was paralyzed.

My eyes would not open. My entire body was numb. Like a heavy stone at the bottom of the sea. But a heavy wave was pushing me. Carrying me along. Laying me on something soft, like sand.

And then he opened my eyes.

He was smiling like a child at Christmas ready to open his first present. A child who had been naughty all year, but Santa had brought him the presents he wanted anyway. A smile that said he had gotten away with it.

He will get away with this. I sense he has so many times before.

There’s something in his right hand. A scalpel. The blade is so clean, so sharp. It reflects the well lighted room as he comes toward me. I am afraid, but with my body paralyzed, it does not react as it should. He stands over me. I want to beg and plead for mercy, but cannot.

He brings the scalpel down on my skin. The blade tears the flesh of my leg. He rips me open from thigh to knee. The skin splits like ripened fruit. Blood pours out and spills down my leg. I can see my muscles. They look nothing like those illustrations in Biology class.

He moves to my other leg and cuts the same way. I feel nothing. It can’t be me he’s cutting open. I’d have passed out by now. This must be a dream. Or I’m watching this from far away.

He’s moving faster. Ripping off my skin like that undeserved Christmas present. Slicing and tearing. He slashes my stomach open. Are those my intestines? He’s turning me inside out.

Inside out.

And I still can’t close my eyes.