Okay, this one's a little "ew" (maybe a lot "ew"), but I have a horror contest to win! :)
|SCREAMS!!! Contest Entry 11/19/19
Theme: THE SCAR RAN FROM THE TOP OF HER FOREHEAD TO THE SPACE BETWEEN HER EYEBROWS.
Judy's hand ran the scalpel down the man's creased forehead, from his hairline to the space between his eyebrows. She didn't stop there. She made a jagged turn to the left. She sliced into the sclera, the white of his eye. Clear fluid mixed with crimson blood as it welled and squirted. The nasty cocktail made her stomach lurch as it splattered on her cheek and lips. She ignored it, intent, intense.
He tried to close his eye, but she just sliced through eyelid along with eyeball, creating a tiny fountain of blood that drained into the small ravine behind her cut.
She looked at his other eye. It made the rapid, jumping movements of terrified prey. She smiled calmly, quietly, considering. She debated whether to blind him, but decided against it. She wanted him to see as she went about her work. She also wanted to see the life drain out of his one good eye as she exacted the vengeance on his body that she couldn't exact on his soul. That was Satan's work. Her role was to hasten its beginning.
A random thought occurred in her diseased mind. This should bother her.
But it didn't.
She looked down to his hands, pulling and pushing against the leather constraints. The cuffs were holding. Good. Her gaze traveled down his pants where an expanding dark circle was growing over his groin, proof of perfect fright. Her smile grew wider, pushing aside the thought that might have troubled her a moment before.
His ankles were bound in rusted iron. She saw the red of rended flesh where his shins had rubbed raw in efforts to escape. They were slippery with blood that dripped slowly with in an irregular cadence, like a old, leaking faucet, to the cement floor below.
The chains held firm to the table he lay on. The only light in the room was from a surgeon's lamp that bathed his face, his eye in cold light. Judy leaned over him, examining quivering flesh, deciding her next cut.
She slid the blade into his belly, carving out an organ. She didn't know which. Blood squirted into her face. She didn't wipe it off. She delighted in its warmth. It dripped from her smiling face onto his writhing skin.
She set the organ to the side and licked her lips. She tasted heat and iron. It was delicious.
She made another slice under his ribs. Just for fun this time, no other reason.
Abruptly, she became aware of his muffled screams. She glanced up to his mouth, where the rag was stuffed in. It remained in place. Good.
She sliced down his thigh, and pulled open skin with both hands. She watched the sinew tighten and clench with pain, with struggle.
She lowered her face to his leg and licked the cut from bottom to top. It tasted like sulfur now, the taste of a killer condemned. His body was dying. Soon her gift would be ready, the Hallmark thank you for her current lord.
An emotion flickered in her eyes. She felt thankful. She was thankful for this opportunity. She was thankful for the work she was doing. She was thankful for the fact that this man could do to no one else what he did to her.
The emotion was fleeting, however, and it flickered away, leaving only cold dark eyes. They were hollow and merciless, the eyes that worked with the blade.
She began to cut again. It was a wicked ballet now--muffled cries the symphony, slow, arcing slices the dance.
In short agonizing moments, she noticed the decrescendo of the music, his cries softening and weaker. She looked up to his remaining eye and watched as it faded.
As the light in his eye went out, she clutched at his slippery soul, finding it filthy and black. She dragged it from his shredded body and put it in her sharp teeth.
She dropped the scalpel and prepared for the journey back to her lord. She furrowed her brow and she concentrated on the return.
THE SCAR RAN FROM THE TOP OF HER FOREHEAD TO THE SPACE BETWEEN HER EYEBROWS.
Satan had taken her soul when this man had taken her body. She had convinced Him to allow her one last test drive within it, jerking awake in its coffin, clawing her way through wood. The splinters under her fingernails had provided pain that was such a relief from the flames. She had clawed through soil until she saw her headstone.
1993 - 2019
A life tragically taken.
God rest her soul.
Turnabout was fair play.