Very little editing and mostly word-for-word from the notebook it was written in. Editing be damned, coherency be damned, etc. This was brought on by an article I read recently.
Word count is 599 words (lol). I’m pleased with it, so let’s share it!
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Title: Fantasy
I like watching them squirm in the first few moments of waking up in my care. Every single person wakes up differently. Some come to on their own, groaning a bit from the chemical-induced hangover, and slowly move their head. Some jerk awake, as if from a nightmare. Some only start to wake up after a soft knock on their head.
Normally, it takes them a few before they realize they’re taped to a chair, and this new one was no different.
“I hear you like fantasies.”
He can’t respond to me. I made sure the ball gag was tightly wedged in before wrapping the bright, hi-lighter pink duct tape around his head. Having his eyes widen, in fear or surprise, makes me want to do a happy little jig, but all I can do is smile. I can’t let him see me being too excited—that would ruin the fun.
“Y’know,” I started. “You’re a lot heavier than you look.”
He looks around, no doubt taking in the setting, and looks like he’s trying to keep his mounting panic in check. I’m not sure if he’s realized he’s only clad in a t-shirt and boxers.
The area’s not much to look at, built and kept sparse enough to look like an old work space. The floor was mostly dirt and the walls of the building look like they could collapse at any moment. A few lights are scattered around and here I am, sitting on an old metal stool beside a scarred, old table with a handful of things scattered on the surface that he can just barely make out.
“Only thing that can hear you is animals.”
His head shot back and he glares at me while my grin just gets bigger.
“Ok, I lie.”
His look of disbelief is enough.
“Anyone who hears your pathetic cries here won’t help you.”
I crack my knuckles, to give a few moments to let what I said sink in. there’s really no reason to give this guy any hope of help like I normally do.
“If anything, the only person who is probably going to hear you is Mike,” I pointing a thumb behind me.
“Keep me out of your villain talk, Maggie,” my brother grumbles and the glare from the guy I’ve brought is something I will cherish.
“I’m not the villain,” I purposefully turn away from my guest. “Think of me as The Punisher. A sort of vigilante justice.”
Mike snort-laughs, ruining my description.
“Frank Castle doesn’t need help dragging a pudgy Nazi into a car.”
I poke at my guest’s knee with a hammer, “you should feel bad about that comment. Not the Nazi part, though.”
I grabbed the hammer, damn. That’s the wrong tool. Where’s my boning knife?
Ah, there it is.
“You,” I point the tip of the knife towards his mid-section, “are a scourge.”
He makes a snort-grunt noise, as if to deny this.
“You have happily, and eagerly, stated your views on how women should be property,” I kneel to the left side of the chair. “You’ve stated your feelings and beliefs towards incest and rape.”
I think I’ll start with the top of the shoulder.
“You justify your actions by claiming women have rape fantasies,” the first cut is always the nicest. I get the best surprise noises.
“We’ll work on fantasies.”
I stop as I reach the elbow and stare at his face.
“My fantasy is to remove people life you.”
I don’t tell him Mike’s only here for his skin. His client is a huge fan of pasty flesh.
Stranger.Nightmare 