NO COMMENTS? THIS ANGERS ME
Whatever, I'll continue with a shorter chapter.
Chapter 4: Men made of mangled meat
Vlad laid on the table, wanting to crawl out. He felt trapped, which he was, but he didn't want to spend any more time with this man. His music or "ear-colors" was beautiful, but he need to get to the train station. It was his only way to escape the horrors of the Camp. He needed out. "Please, sir. What do you want?" As he spoke this, he realized the man didn't search his clothes very well. He could feel the presence of his combat knife in his pocket. "What do you want? I have nothing of value. No one does! You should be aware of this!" Vlad's hand reached towards his knife slowly, while trying to guess the time of day. It was either dusk or dawn of the next day. He was too late.
"Shut up. Cease your speaking! For this is the time of day, in which I crave!" He said this and he grabbed Vlad's hand that was reaching for the knife. "Trying to escape is about as wise as coming here, duckling." He smiled, his breath smelling of rotting flesh. He playfully walked to the other side of the room, where a closet was. He opened the door, and to Vlad's horror, a tied up body tumbled out. "Mmph! Mmm! Mmmhmmm!" It was wiggling around in the body bag it was tied in, as the musician picked up the body and placed it on another hospital gurney. He tied him up, then removed the body bag but only enough so the face was visible. That was plenty of the victim for Vlad to see. Vlad vomited over the side of the gurney, landing on the floor of the attic. The face wasn't a face anymore. It was a clean sheet of flesh, with only three small holes, two for the nose and one for the mouth, each only about a centimeter wide. The thing squirmed and squirmed, bodily fluids spilling out of his facial holes. The musician slapped him across the face. "Stop moving! Stop moving!" He said in a cheerful voice. He was obviously enjoying himself.
The waste could drive anyone insane, but Vlad had never seen anything like this before. The musician grabbed a rusty scalpel, opened more of the body bag, revealing the fact that the thing had no arms or legs, only stumps. The musician/surgeon held his scalpel tightly and with pride, and began slicing open the thing's chest. Slice slice slice slice. He tore open the skin, causing more groans and squeal's from the thing. He was whistling as he operated, oblivious to the world. Vlad suddenly shook back to reality, and again reached for his knife. He reached and reached. His hands went into his pocket, and his finger felt the cold handle. Success! he grabbed it and then moved it up so he could cut himself free. But he heard a noise so unsettling and nerve racking. The musician/surgeon was holding a rat. As he began to lower it into the thing's chest, he whistled and laughed and giggled. Vlad almost vomited again, but resisted the urge. He cut the straps one by one, until he felt something strange in his stomach. The surgeon finished his operation and was know glaring at Vlad with his cold, green eyes.
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