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Pieces
#11
He needed to hold his arm and curl up in a ball.

The need was surprisingly motivating.

His fists were tight coils, plastic ties digging fire into the wrist as he tried to pull them through the loops. Shreds dug needles to the bone, and he screamed defiantly for the strength to pull more. When blood oozed the arm-rests, and still his arms were bound, he sank away. Head rolled back. Sobs wracked his throat already burning from the hours of fucked up bullshittery that this turned into.

The moment passed eventually.

And he was left alone with his thoughts. 

They weren’t pleasant.

He barely noticed when a woman in a white lab coat injected something he assumed to be the same as the contents of the weaponized injectable from the junk yard. It had to be how they were keeping him from the source of his channeling. Nothing changed for better or worse as far as he could tell; there was no power to seize at all. She left just before the blue-eyed man returned.

Jay’s voice was wrecked, but he suffered the words anyway. “I will kill you when I get out of this chair,” he said. The blue-eyed man only smiled, pulled the collar of his shirt, and what was shown turned Jay’s stomach with horror. He knew it was coming, but there it was, the thing he was most proud of in the world.

Three bullet holes in the skull. All the rage and pain of three brothers KIA desecrated by this cockroach. His jaw clenched tight to keep the chin from quivering. He wasn't very successful.

Sparks stormed the dark basement, brightening ice in the man’s eyes. After that, shit got real.

His own flared wide. No. No. NO. NO!

The inner pleading probably made it worse.

He’d been electrocuted plenty of times. Accidentally touching a live wire while changing out plugs in the barn. Falling and reaching out, only to grab an electric fence was enough to throw a teenager completely off his feet. Working on the truck and grazing a hot bolt with a forearm while reaching further into the engine. They left their marks. He’d yelled and cursed at the time. The heart raced. Some burn cream, bandages and Tylenol later and he was fine.

This was nothing like that.

The jolts were not sparks that stopped a millisecond after reflexes released the hot spot. This was an eternity.

Every muscle in his body seized. His arms and legs curled up like a dead spider. Feet and toes flared until they might rip themselves apart. His back arched. His jaw clenched so tight his face spasmed. When it stopped, he shook uncontrollably. He’d bit his tongue at one point, and blood welled up inside his mouth, gushing iron down his throat, until he was too weak to swallow it and just let it dribble out one corner of his mouth.

The smell was the worst. The room spun in circles. Blue-eyed man blurred in four different places. When he looked down, he just stared in disbelief.

Black circles charred his stomach, shoulders, chest and legs, and connecting them all were scrawling lines, purple and black, that crawled up to the neck and traced jagged paths down to the other hip.

They left him alone with the smell of his own carcass and bleak hope of coming out of this alive.
Only darkness shows you the light.


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