Chained

I awoke to the sound of dripping water, it was coming from somewhere in the kitchen, the open door just a few feet away. The smell hit me, just as pungent as it was when I went to sleep. My eyes started to water at the pure concentration of the odor, and the nausea set in. How long had it been since I arrived here? A week? A month? It sure felt like forever, but time was useless for me, since I knew however long it had been wouldn’t affect how long it would be until I could leave.

I heard the muffled humming, coming from a distance. It was him… he was on his way back. As he got closer, I heard the scrape of the rifle’s rusty old barrel against the dirt. He was humming the song he always did when he caught some fresh game, and I could hear the pleasure in his deep grumble of a hum. His boots where hitting the ground with a satisfying thump, and he sounded in no way of a hurry. The steps got closer, and I heard him walk up the creaky wooden porch towards the old door. The door opened slowly, but with purpose. The man, who was built big and stocky, with large hands and feet and more hair on his chest than a werewolf, walked slowly towards the kitchen, still humming his tune. In his hand I could see a dead rabbit, its lifeless body dangling like a deflated balloon after a birthday party.

He walked through the doorway, and I heard a loud plunk as he set the rabbit down on a wooden board somewhere. I had just started to realize how hungry I was. I couldn’t remember the last time eating. When the man came back out, I let out a faint whisper. “Please… please… please give me something to eat…” The man looked at me, and gave me a creepy smile. A small chuckle came out, and then silence. “But you haven’t even started performing for me today.” I knew this meant that I wasn’t getting fed for a while. The blisters on me hands and feet were killing me, and looked infected. If only the chain wasn’t so strong, I could probably brake them and make an escape.

The man went back into the kitchen, and I heard him open and close the refrigerator. He walked out holding a cold beer, and slowly made his way towards the couch in the room across from me. He sat on his couch, let out a great big sigh, and turned on the television. I was sitting there alone in the dark for what seemed like hours, hunger driving me insane. I tried again and again to slip my feet out of the chains, but was to no prevail, they were too tight around my boney ankles. I feel back to sleep, wishing it could all be over.

—

After a few minutes, I hear him stomping up a staircase, and possible dragging something behind him. He shuts a door, and I heard the familiar sound of something locking. He makes his way over to me, with a crazed look on his face. He is covered in blood from head to toe, and is holding what seems to be some sort of kitchen knife. He walks back into the kitchen, and drops his weapon into the sink.

The man comes back out, still blood dripping from his beard, and walks over to me, holding a whip. He leans over, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “You want to be fed?” I give a small nod, and he unravels his whip. “Well, you are going to have to work for it…” The way he said this deeply unsettled me, and I could tell that whatever was coming, it was not going to be fun. “Dance for me,” he said, but all I could do was show confusion in my expression, as I had no idea what he mean. “Dance for me now!” He this at the top of his lungs.

I stood up, and started moving my body, but I wouldn’t call it dancing. The man took the whip in one hand, leaned back, and looked like he was ready to strike. With one quick movement, he took a hard whip at my feet, hitting the top of my right foot. I fell to the ground and started sobbing. He commanded that I get up and continue, and I tried my best to fulfil his orders. He again started whipping my feet until I started dancing as fast as I could. After about five minutes of this, I collapsed from exhaustion.

The man gave one final chuckle, and walked into the kitchen again, with a wide smile on his face. He grabbed the dead rabbit and brought it back. He put his large hands around the rabbit, one on its head, and one right below the neck. He pulled, until an awful sound of bones breaking and flesh ripping pierced the air around me. The head of the rabbit, now free from the body, was gripped in the man’s right hand, like he was palming a basketball. He dropped the rabbit’s head on the ground in front of me, and said “Eat up.”

He laughed his cackling laugh, and walked back into the room with the television. At this point, was frozen in fear. The hunger was so overwhelming, but the sight of the decapitated rabbit almost made me lose my appetite. Almost. What I did next was unspeakable, and the sheer thought of it makes me cringe. When I was finished, I laid on the floor in a ball, and cried myself to sleep. I still heard the man chuckling throughout the night, and eating what smelled to be rotten meat.

I awoke to the sound of dripping water, it was coming from somewhere in the kitchen, the open door just a few feet away. The smell hit me, just as pungent as it was when I went to sleep. My eyes started to water at the pure concentration of the odor, and the nausea set in. How long had it been since I arrived here? A week? A month? It sure felt like forever, but time was useless for me, since I knew however long it had been wouldn’t affect how long it would be until I could leave.