MY EYES LIGHT A FIRE FULL OF PAIN. This is not unusual, my whole wretched body as such has become not unlike an encyclopedia on the subject. It has been quite some time which I have been latched here to this table. But my eyes hurt the most. Dry and overcome by the bright lights which hang unceremoniously above my shackled form however now my pain stricken organs which imbue me with the sense of sight focus on something other than the cascading photons coming from the incandescent devices above.
“Haaaaah”
“ssssss..”
“Stay BACK! Do You HEAR ME!?”
That’s my voice telling the mongrels to stay at bay. I’m frantic. Or am I insane? With my inner thoughts so calm and collected yet my voice trembles so. I can hear it in my voice but I cannot control it any longer as if my mind has partly retreated to a dreamlike state while I observe the events that transpire about my body with an observers cold fascination as opposed to the chill of terror which racks my voice as I demand obedience from the creatures that threaten my existence.
“Hiiisssssss…”
Despite the protests to which I have made frantically translucent I can see as I turn my head that the creatures do not heed my words. Foul monsters, I see them. Mashing their misbegotten lips and grinding their rotting teeth all the while straining against the tout ropes which bind them by the necks just a few bites from my body. Squirming on the operating table which has become all I have known for as long as I can remember but the restraints on me force me to remain just inches from horror. Spittle splashes onto me from them, my only source of bathing until the woman in light returns, and then the water will come.
“Have you no minds? What has he done to you?”
“Harrrrghaaah!”
“Stop IT!”
Who were they? Can they even know when I cannot make use of the faculties that once made me aware of my own identity as well? They hunger for me, to consume what little muscle still clings to my bones. No, they are as clueless to me as to their former life beyond becoming a monster while I, now, seemingly have become an introverted crazy. Hardly surprising, I my world, it is nothing but this, day in and day out. If days really continue to pass if this is all that remains of a world I once called home. Beyond the lights that brighten my world during all hours of existence I see nothing. Beyond the monsters just at my table’s end I see darkness; it is the end of my world as it exists to me. Just as Magellan had before me I too long to explore, to see what lies beyond that darkness and to map its secrets, then I see him.
Doc Placebo,
“Professor, you look…
…as well as can be expected.”
The man in light! He has come back. Standing there on the precipice of light and dark as created by the many lights hanging above me tethered to an unseen ceiling I stare at his magnificence. It is as if the light were not merely reflected off of the surface of his form but actually absorbed and radiated from as if he were recycling it to a purer form of luminance. He carries a bucket, a scent wafts from the bucket which makes my stomach wail upon my cerebrum. The creatures sense it too; they look upon him, saliva flowing freely in anticipation of the meal to come.
“Hrrrrrr.”
“GRAAAAAAA!”
“sssSSSsshhhhaaaaaaaaa!”
They clamor! Their eyes are imploring the man awash in light to impart upon them some of the many treats of his bucket.
Doc Placebo,
“BACK!”
That voice, it is the voice that commands. The very muscles attached to my bones hear it before the authority registers within my cranium and my body tries to back away only to remain shackled to this damnable metal table!
Doc Placebo,
“Good, now SIT!”
My neck strains as I observe the creatures that have been the bane of my shackled life listen to the only voice which they actually heed. As commanded the monsters acquiesce to the man’s clout. Walking beyond the perimeter of illumination the man stands at the head of the table. Looking down upon me the man speaks.
Doc Placebo,
“No hello?”
Doc Placebo,
“Ah well, such pleasantries are best left outside this room are they not Professor?”
Doc Placebo,
“If only I knew what was going on in there… in that mind of yours.”
Doc Placebo,
“Standing over there just now, watching these Minions of mine threaten, bully, tear tiny morsels of your flesh I heard your cries.”
Doc Placebo,
“I listened to the pain of your voice and it carried me, the unhinged callings of the heart are a concerto with more beauty than any of Mozart’s ramblings to my ear. But NOW…”
A pause in his soliloquy. A speech made for an unseen audience, surely not I, as I am truly never engaged in conversation. However now during this pause I am observed with a keen eye. It is the eye of an artisan observing his work. I wondered what pallet of terror would be applied to what was my body and is now merely an extension of this table.
“Hrrrrrr.”
Doc Placebo,
“Hm? Oh alright.”
Reaching into his bucket my stomach beckons me. MEAT! A sloppy handful of actual COOKED MEAT is retrieved by the man’s hand. Dripping with juices and lined with fats the handful is tossed in the direction of one of the “Minions” as he called them. Oozing handfuls of delicious sustenance continue to be deprived to me and given instead to my nightmares. My ears are assailed by the sounds of their feast, without use of hands or utensils these things eat right off of the floor using only their teeth. It’s a crunching, sloshing, tearing symphony to which my ears are attuned.
Doc Placebo,
“Magnificent arint they? You certainly thought so a few months ago.”
Doc Placebo,
“You don’t remember do you? Like so many things, memories are a malleable devices, they cannot be trusted under such circumstances as this.”
Doc Placebo,
“But you could not refuse, the chance, the opportunity! To learn about such a culture as I have created here.”
Doc Placebo,
“And while learning… while BECOMING part of that culture… I too have come to learn something.”
Doc Placebo,
“Do you see this?”
The man in light holds up a bright gold belt, the words, Killer Championship are written across its brilliant surface. The man continues.
Doc Placebo,
“My coveted championship…”
Doc Placebo,
“A weak man craves this belt, thinking that it will bring him respect, thinking it will bring him power.”
Doc Placebo,
“Such NONSENSE... that respect can be acquired through such means.”
Doc Placebo,
“So TELLING… that this man’s insecurities are worn as brazenly on his sleeve as his vanity.”
Doc Placebo,
“You and I are learned men, we know that respect cannot be acquired so abruptly but I have come to expect such things from the masses.”
Doc Placebo,
“I’ve faced these people before and I will again. It is as if I have been facing the same man for an age to which my mind cannot grapple. The faces are different but the words and the methods they employ are all too a like to be not of the same man.”
Doc Placebo,
“Yet I know they are not just one person assailing me again and again, they are just peasants.”
Doc Placebo,
“And as such people such as I cannot expect much more than the status quo.”
As if reading the thoughts of my stomach his hand reaches once more into the depths of his bucket. Retrieving from that magical container I see another sopping disgusting glob of meat brought forth. This one is for me. While the creatures flanking me continue to tear upon their provisions the man awash in light holds the glob to my mouth. Drips of the slop fall into my face and my nose catches the food’s encompassing aroma. I take a nibble, then at the behest of my stomach, my teeth tear into the meat as the others had, he continues to talk.
Doc Placebo,
“Each communications this man has made in my direction are the same, I need not even listen to the second as everything which was said in the first was said again in the second.”
Doc Placebo,
“A simple speech stating how he will defeat me, what my belt will do for him, and then repeating that he will win, and then a series of contrived events which are dramatic to be sure but are simply so over the top I believe them to be nothing but fiction.”
Doc Placebo,
“Is it truly likely that life changing events would happen at the very moment that his challenge to me would come to pass? How MANY TIMES have I faced men who speak to me in the VERY SAME MANOR?”
Doc Placebo,
“So faux.”
Doc Placebo,
“So transulent.”
Doc Placebo,
“So… STANDARD… a challenger.”
Doc Placebo,
“But… a weakness is found.”
My teeth tear into a second helping of a meat unknown to me. I do not bother to taste the food as I have brief recollections of doing in the past however now it is the present. And in the present I only chew and swallow. My stomach is happy and acids begin to assail my meal in order to digest it’s contents. The television which I had noticed earlier flares to life and brings forth a visage unto my eyes of a man being strapped down to the very table where I now live.
Doc Placebo,
“Do you remember him Professor?”
My eyes focus on the man.
Doc Placebo,
“It’s you of course.”
No.
“No.”
The man is almost startled at my response, I had not yet addressed him tonight, or today.
Doc Placebo,
“Yes it is… everyone has a little trifle of vanity for their person. My opponent, if he could truly be called as such, Mr. Esposito, has it in abundance…
Doc Placebo,
“Can you see what you were... and now see what you’ve become. Your clothes, destroyed, your body, withering, your memory… failing.”
Doc Placebo,
“Tell me…”
Doc Placebo,
“You must tell me.”
His eyes are locked on mine, hands grasp my skull with strength as if he were going to pull the very thoughts he seeks from me from my mind with his own two hands instead of waiting for my reply to his unknown question.
Doc Placebo,
“Tell me how it feels to be shattered… to be destroyed… I must know.”
“Hurt.”
Doc Placebo,
“Yes yes I know… tell me of that hurt, tell me of the pain…
God where do I start? Look at who I was, confident, able… now… I am nothing. Strapped to this table for eternity and eagerly anticipating being fed a soaked glob of meat every day by hand with no respite from the demons inches from my table.
“The pain you feel will be but a taste of Espositos, just a taste…”
The poor fucker. Looking up at the vision of myself I remember a fleeting thought that I chose this. Not to be incarcerated in such a manor no, but I chose to be here in this place. I could not help it. “The curiosity killed the cat”, is probably the most apt saying for my predicament to be sure. To know what made these monsters tick… I explored the town outside, lived among them… but it did not last… I pray for that man whom will meet the man in white. I pray for the man who will meet my God.
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