She had that nightmare again, the one where she was lying on the examination table with her long, lily white legs spread open, flesh cold as lizard scales and speckled with tiny dots of crimson blood like chicken pox. Doctors, nurses, and other shadowy figures dressed in black cloaks with their faces hidden behind animal masks were talking, laughing, probing her body with cruel gloved hands, not caring that she could feel every rough finger jabbing into her cervix and playing with her clit with scalpels, scissors, and clean silver knives. 1
"Where am I?"2
"You're in the Machine Room, Patient 103." 3
"My name is Ruth, Ruth Morris. Why are you doing this?"4
"The question isn't why, but why not , Patient 103."5
"What the hell are you talking about?"6
"Machines now, that's all they are, that's all they ever will be..."7
Red and blue wires, blood-filled tubes, and electrodes were fastened, plugged, and screwed into her flesh, hooked up to her vital organs, prying her soul open like the dark, cavernous mouth of that one patient in room 302; the one who the doctors liked to call their "Godly Creation" because he was no longer a man anymore but a mass of pink, quivering flesh, metal parts, and bits of wire that hung from his sown-up waist like spider legs. 8
9
Ruth tried to scream but they got to work; gloves snapping against wrists, needles spurting, lips smiling behind the carved ivory faces of wolves, pigs, rabbits and goats. Why are you doing this? Please let me go. Stop it, that fucking hurts!10
Then, like falling in a dream, she woke up.11
Adding your comment:
words cannot express. This is what I need. This is my fuel. This is the fiction that feeds me. I slwoly am coming to terms with it. It tweaked something inside of me. Especially the first paragraph.
