Writing Topics

Oh my god. That's a fucking guillotine.

"Here". she said from behind her face mask, a low, monotonous, sex-less, voice. A drone, working the conveyer belt in a surgical factory. I, the next doll in line, features set to be altered and modified. Her latex covered hands reached towards my hesitant ones, two grey spheres of malleable foam rubber dropping from her fingertips, like what you imagine to be the inside of a memoryfoam™ mattress.

A frown slowly crawls across my face as i realize she's given me stress balls.

The room was dark and encroaching. The other inhabitants busy preparing their work stations, the doctor attending his stainless steel instrument tray. My blindfold had just been removed, the dimmed lights and staunch sterility now leaving me both suffocated and parched. An ominous steel table rests to my left, ominous if for no other reason than that it was not the bed that i had expected, that the one bastion of comfort that i could expect in this faceless intimidating encounter was in fact just as stark and cowing. shitfuck... i should have taken that Adavan.

Confession

“So, what brings you here today, Taylor… Falls is it?” Her hand is clasping some sort of encrusted gem, dangling from the necklace resting on the exposed skin below her neck. Her hair is wispy and brown, loosely tied and haphazard, what I’d imagine her after having had great sex.

“Fales actually”, I smile and offer, a bit sheepishly. This isn’t the first time I’ve come to confession. I come about every three months, though in the past six months I’ve been four times. “Well, it’s been almost three months since I’ve come in, and thought I was probably due”.

“Oh yes, I see”, she lifts her glasses by scrunching her nose, leaning forward, closer to the ancient fifteen inch CRT, “It says here: contact with H, is that correct?”