Posts Tagged ‘House of Pain’

First attempt at a flash fiction challenge posted weekly by Chuck Wendig from Terrible Minds.

We had to choose from one of five randomly generated sentences which would then appear somewhere in our piece of fiction of approximately 1000 words.

The following is an exercise intended to start with developing the character and setting for future stories. It’s much darker than I intended, but I go where the characters take me. I’ve also experimented with present tense here, and I’m not hating it – don’t think I’ll make it a reoccurring style choice though….  Final note: Music is a *huge* part of my creative process. At the end of every exercise, I’ll include at least one song that I feel was instrumental [pun only mildly intended].

She brings the pain.

The rough sex arrives by adhesive smoke. It crawls along the floor, saturating the air in its heavy heat; condensing in lime green droplets on his skin. Shrouding the room, in heady bliss, Friedrich pushes his sweaty palms against the cool steel of the operating table. He wets his lips with anticipation as he starts to feel his nerve endings dance. At first it is a sharp, prickling sensation, and then his skin begins to feel like he’s on fire, a slow burn. Reflexively his arms jerk upward, but meet with resistance, as he arches against the thick Kevlar straps securing him in place. Friedrich’s eyes begin to water and he feels the inflammation. The pain starts to meld with a new sensation. Friedrich notes he can no longer feel his toes. Good. Eyes clenched, sensory deprived, his ears strain, focusing on the only clues as to what comes next…

Daisy Merkowitz stands in front of the doorway leading to the operating room. Bending over, she unzips her thigh highs, unceremoniously overturning it onto the floor. A small, insignificant pebble rolls out, clinking against the metal grates. “Of all the…” Daisy mutters. “How the fuck did a rock get in my shoe?” Grumbling, she props herself against the wall as she maneuvers her long legs back into the constricting latex. She carefully checks the seams of her clothes; the latex suit sucking at her skin like a parasitic life form fits perfectly under her thigh highs and lengthy gloves. The zip of her suit secures neatly under her chin with a snap, sealing away most of her skin beneath impermeable fabric. Last, she reaches for an old friend: the silicate, reflective coating reveals only her own face. I look like shit.  She is comforted only by the fact that her client today would be receiving services from her, sight unseen. The anti-anoxia helmet slides over her head and she adjusts the fastenings until she feels the pressure lock bite into her neck. Daisy sighs. That’s going to leave a mark.

Through the thick portal glass, Daisy sees her client lying on the operating table on the other side; a toy box glints in the low light on the stand next to him. He’s oblivious, of course. The light twitches and growing jaundiced pallor signal her; it’s time. Taking a deep breath, Daisy saunters into the room. The clipboard at the end of the table indicates his name (Friedrich Blum) and the orders.  She glances over his body, as pale and motionless as a corpse. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest betrays the truth; he is still very much alive. She makes slight adjustments on the room controls. The concentrations are much lower now but she notices how it clings even to her suit, running tiny rivulets across the black latex.

“Mr. Blum, open your eyes.” Daisy clears her throat, not certain he heard. Stupid helmet…

She opens her mouth to repeat her command, when one green eye peeks out from beneath dark lashes. Soon both eyes are open, staring at her intently.

“I asked for you….you are her, aren’t you?” he poses his question in a shaky voice. Shaky from fear….or from desire, she wonders which.

Daisy reaches one gloved hand into her toy box, retrieving her favored tool. Holding it before her, she runs the razor thin edge of the scalpel down the side of his face, tracing a line arch of crimson. “Miss Havoc,” she states curtly, “And the pleasure…is all yours.”

His hands clench in anticipatory agony as she draws the blade along his side, stopping mid-thigh to create a deeper horizontal incision.

He cries out, “That hurts!”

“I should hope so.” Even though he can’t see, Miss Havoc finds herself smiling just a little.

He starts moaning. “Don’t stop.” It becomes clear that he holds no fear, panting and urging her to continue. Some men just like it rough. He continues to struggle against his bonds, his fingertips squeak as they  briefly run across the surface of latex.

Miss Havoc digs her scalpel in deeper. “I have no intention of stopping, Mr. Blum,” she retorts in a dry monotone.  She hesitates then momentarily as she reaches again into her tool chest. Her hand closes around a thick, weighty handle; the coolness of the steel penetrating through. The weight felt good in her hand. It felt right. Without further thought, she swings the saw around to bear.  And some men just like getting their legs cut off by a woman in bondage gear. She gives an encumbered sigh before resting the teeth of the medical saw against Friedrich’s skin, pale yellow in the dim spot lights. Bring the pain.

Three hours later, Daisy Merkewitz sits on the tiny, railed-in patio of a satellite café. The air has grown chilled and she pulls the powder blue, cashmere cardigan closer over her shoulders. She flashes a charming smile at the waiter that sets down her triple Machiatto before he turns to set down a cup of dark sludge in front of her companion.

“Good day at work?”

“The usual,” Daisy replies, her lips curving up over the rim of her mug.

“Most people would say you have ‘daddy issues’ you know?”

“Don’t I?” Daisy laughs, wiping at the corners of her mouth. The napkin comes away stained red. “I mean, I can’t say I don’t like because I do. At least…a part of me does.” Her hands tighten around the ceramic as the steam rises, catching in her strawberry blonde curls.

Her companion shakes her head. “Don’t mistake pain for love, Daiz. They’re not the same thing.”

“But, aren’t they?” Daisy echoes in a bemused tone. They sit in silence, cool air filling in the spaces between. Daisy leans back in her chair, readjusting the scarf strategically wrapped around her neck. She begins to reapply her lipstick when the peace is broken by the low chirping of her mobile. Daisy excuses herself and reaches for the phone.

“Miss Havoc’s House of Pain. How may I serve you?”

Soundtrack Selections:

Track 1 – “Sail” – AWOLNATION

Track 2 – “Lilian” – Depeche Mode

Track 3 – “The Scalpel and the Whore” – Clinical Torment (A very talented artist I knew vaguely years back; Gone but not forgotten.)