63 CHAINSAW CHARLIE  

jasonabadboy4u 29M
48 posts
6/18/2006 2:55 am

Last Read:
8/13/2006 3:15 pm

63 CHAINSAW CHARLIE

63 CHAINSAW CHARLIE
An Orgy Of Flying Limbs And Gore.
Her dreams were always the same. She was naked, and tied down to a slab. A grinning shadowy figure was gliding a buzzing chainsaw up and down her body. Cutting away deep into her---Ms. Cassie awoke with a start to a clinking sound. Metal? Glass? She couldn't be sure. Her senses were fuzzy. Her ears felt as though they were plugged with cotton, and when she opened her eyes everything looked like as though it were covered with a film of gauze. Where was she? She struggled to remember, then checked herself. The haze before her eyes began to clear and she winced at the bright light shining into them. It was from a huge overhead bulb with a reflecting plate behind it. She could just make out the ceiling and the tops of walls, painted an of-white color that seemed to intensify the glare. A harsh chemical aroma awakened her sense of smell. She inhaled through her nose and recognized the pungent, sterile odor of rubbing alcohol. It filled the air and seared the dried-out membranes of her nose as she sniffed. Now she remembered: she was in her doctor's office. Dr. Charlie who had been her best pupil in her college class. Only a couple of years before. He was now a doctor patrician. Ms. Cassie tried to turn her head, first left, then right. Something braced against the sides prevented her from moving. She could tell she was lying on a firm padded surface. A flex of her fingers confirmed that it was a leather-covered examination table. Her right arm felt like lead as she tried to lift it, and it was some seconds before she realized she was trying to tug it up against resistance. Her left arm, too. She was strapped down to the table. What had happened? She knew that sometimes doctors restrained patients who experienced convulsions--but that wouldn't have been necessary for her. She hadn't been sick in years. Not even a cold! She had just come in to get her annual physical exam out of the way before the holidays. Behind her, she heard water running, and more clinking. Instruments of some kind, she guessed. They were being laid on a tray. She tried to speak, but her tongue was a clod of dried clay in her mouth. Sometimes, when she fell asleep on her back, she awoke with her mouth so dried out she could only manage a feeble croak before downing a glass of water. This was worse. Her mouth felt paralyzed. Possibly . . . anesthetized? What was going on? Had she experienced some kind of fit while Dr. Charlie was examining her? Her mind racing, Ms. Cassie tried to reconstruct events as best she could remember. She had shown up for her 3 o'clock appointment exactly on time. She remembered thinking it strange that Dr. Charlie's receptionist was not at the desk when she arrived. Charlie himself had let her in. There were no other patients in the waiting room. She assumed that she was the last of the day. No doubt, Charlie had started to cut back his workload. He was not well. She had heard rumors around town of his illness. In fact, Charlie had not looked well when he admitted her. He was gaunt and haggard. His thoughts seemed to wander when she made small talk with him. He seemed distracted too, and behaved in other unusual ways. His movements were strategic and mechanical--the effects of illness, she assumed. His settleness made her feel uneasy. He barely seemed to be listening to her as she chatted to him. It was Charlie who brought up the subject of their deal. She had laughed upon remembering it. Not too long ago, When Charlie had persuaded her to register for the organ donation program at the hospital he was working at getting into. Right before he left her, he told her to undress to put the patient gown on. She had just removed her bra and took off her underwear, when someone was standing behind her. That was the last that she remembered of her office visit today-well, that and the shot Charlie had given her just after. Now, what had he said he was giving her the shot for? He hadn't said-had he? She could try to ask him now. He was hovering above her, his face darkened in the shadow thrown by the light behind him. The sickness made his eyes look strange. Ms. Cassie tried to talk but she couldn't make her lips form words. Then Charlie began talking, softly-and Cassie knew the hell of having to scream but not being able to make a sound. He was determined to follow through on their bargain. after all, a promise is a promise. Cassie heard the click of gears engaging, then a loud buzz. Charlie's face was replaced by the whirring blade of a chainsaw that slowly began to lower toward her naked body. There was nothing to worry about-he would follow their agreement to the letter. He promised she would be dead by the time the chainsaw reached her organs.


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