A Plate Served Raw

A Plate Served Raw

A Story by Soma-ko
"

If you get bored before finishing, stop reading it. Writing isn't meant to be forced read, and I'd appreciate if you left any tips on how i can improve my writing, or make my story more interesting.

"

There he was, standing in front of me once again. One hand was torn off, blood dripping on the porcelain floor. His eyes looked so peaceful, so tranquil like the calm before the storm. His blue eyes stared blankly at me. It was that smile. That absurd smile, his grin was so wide it was like he completely forgot the meaning of sanity, but his eyes begged to differ. His mouth was smeared with blood as it always was. His feet, dirty and covered with the coalition of blood and dirt.


I was panicking, breath caught in my throat; my heart seemed to stop for a brief second. There was nowhere to run anymore, nowhere to turn; it was too late for me, but maybe, just maybe my son could get away. I silently, but quickly mediated and conjured a quick prayer to a god I didn't believe in; hoping what little chance my boy had would be enough. Though deep down, I knew it was impossible. He was a bad dream that wouldn't go away, pestering you like a swarm of mosquitoes on a blistering summer’s day, until finally, you went away.


On his left hand he held his child, a rusty but sharpened butcher’s knife. Does this man feel no pain? No sorrow? No guilt? There was nothing left for me to do, as he inched closer, seemingly playing with my mind like that of a cat and a cornered mouse. It’s funny actually. All I wanted to do was to be a chef, to cook for others, for my son, for my friends. That’s all I wanted, and here I am cowering in a dead end, presented with a dish too large for me to handle.


                What seemed like an eternity came crashing down, as he slowly brought the knife to my face, and wiped the blood on the side of the blade onto my cheek. I could smell the mixed metals of iron and rusted steal as the bumpy texture of the knife caressed my cheek.  Upon the agonizing end of his demented foreplay, once the tip of the blade left my face he quickly jerked up and brought the knife straight down, digging it deep into my thigh. After a spray of blood spew out from my wound, blood continued to slowly ooze down my leg, and tears began trickling from my eyes.


“Why…?” seemed to be the only word that escaped my mouth. He stared at me for a second, tilted his head and frowned. But his smile quickly reformed, as if he conjured up a delightful plan that suited his taste. More demanding and crazed, his eyes lit up and soon met the requirements of a complete psychopath’s disposition. His eyes bulging, dilated, and blood shot, became locked with mine. Images inundated through my head like a broken dam making me nauseous, my sanity fleeing like an injured dog.


Suddenly, I was somewhere else. A house maybe? The putrid smell of raw meat hung in the air, with a lingering fragrance of pine. I turned and saw someone laughing, or rather chuckling to himself, as if he was told an inside joke unknown to the rest of the world. Who was that? He looked older, reeked of alcohol, and his beard has been left unshaven for a few days or so. He seemed dazed, ruminating on a nostalgic feeling that was long lost. In one hand he held a rusty knife, much like the one that was lodged into my… for some reason, I couldn't keep concentrated on a single thought. My mind continued to wander off in a dream-like state. The only thing I could focus on were the events playing out in front of me. Using his free hand, he dominantly held a woman down, pushing her chest onto the top of a small silver table. She was gagged; table cloth in her mouth, which muffled her shrieks. Her hands and feet were fettered onto the edges of the table, and along with the man’s force on her chest, the struggle was pointless. Who is that woman? Dynamic screams accompanied by her tremulous tone continued to crescendo as the man reached for his knife. Her eyes suggested that pleading held no merit, and that she would soon be consumed by hysteria. Until the man sloppily, yet somehow delicately, bore the knife leisurely into her arm. It was that point she began to uncontrollably struggle for a last chance at life. The man seemed to take great pleasure at her fruitless attempts to escape. Licking his upper lip, he plunged the knife deeper into her arm, savoring every moment as she squirmed helplessly.


“Papa? What are you doing to mommy?” I said without understanding why. Who is this man? He’s not my father… then whose?


“Come here son, and I’ll teach you something new.” His eyes were deeply vast, emitting a dark blue hue.


“M’kay daddy.” and with that I slowly walked towards him. Having no control over my body it mechanically walked forward; like a scrap of metal, I was drawn into the magnet. After tousling my hair, the man gently placed his hand on my shoulder.  Wait, was this even my shoulder? The woman lethargically struggled, having spent most of her strength beforehand, her eyes told me she had given up, as an incessant flow of tears flowed towards the table.


“Crying isn't going to get you anything you w***e,” the man said in a complacent tone.


“Okay son, what is this?” he asked me.


“Mommy?”, I answered, not knowing why.


“No son, this is a large slab of walking meat. Nothing more than a chunk of meat. Now watch and learn,” He told me with an amiable, yet sinister smile.


“Ok daddy.”


“Good boy, you can have whatever piece you want. We’re going to have a feast tonight.” He told me as he stuck the knife into the woman once more… “Now you try”…


                Gulping for air, I returned to my current predicament, knife still lodged in my thigh. He continued to look at me, eyes puerile, and as I sat there engulfed by the searing pain from my wound, I understood him. That was his father, the one who brutally murdered his mother, and he held her down, watching as he did. Then it was I who felt sorrow. Sympathy filled my heart as tears began to leak out of my eyes for the stranger who was dismantling me.  Sadness and anguish replaced the pain my leg was emitting. For once I understood and felt pity, until he brought the next knife down again striking my shoulder; my mind throbbed, and I could feel the loss of blood affect my awareness. Leaving the blade, he took out another, and buried it within my stomach. Excruciating pain flooded my mind once more as my blood began gushing out of my stomach. Wincing at the pain, he seemed to enjoy my distraught. He sliced my thumb off with one smooth movement and I cried, tears now flooding from my eyes, until I heard a little boy scream.


“DADDY!” just across the hall stood my little boy sobbing, and shaking, blood smeared on his shirt. The man turned toward the noise, and saw him. At the sight of his face, my son ceased crying, and a look of trepidation filled his face. He began walking towards my son, walking so leisurely, as if he was taking a stroll outside enjoying the calm scenery.  He was half way to my son, when I finally processed what was happening in front of me. Please god; don’t let him see what I saw, please. I found myself praying to a god I paid no attention to, for the second time.


The stench of my blood mixed with mucus, and tears, knocked my senses into the right places. The last thing I would allow to take place was me letting my son be scarred from something he did not deserve. This thought alone allowed me to muster enough strength to pull the knife out of my thigh. In my mind I let out an agonizing scream, making my head throb even louder, and in a last attempt, I lunged at the man. Using my weight to bring him down, I stabbed his spinal cord, quickly reclaiming my bearings; I removed the knife and plunged it at the back of his neck. Never in one night have I seen so much blood. My hands and face were drenched in blood, and a puddle quickly began to form underneath his body; his clothing soaking as much blood up as it could.

        

        Pathetically scampering to my boy, who now lay on the floor bawling, pants soaked with urine, I took his hand with my good one, and led him to the lobby. We must’ve looked like the strangest father son duo there would ever be. A limping old man, blade sticking out of his shoulder, with a finger missing, along with a young boy, pants soiled, and shirt stained with blood. Smiling to myself, I felt relief that my son was safe from harm’s way. My parental resolve hardened; I would never let anything happen to my boy.


                The thought lingered though my mind.


                The sound of clattering pots and pans, echo throughout the corridors. Nothing will happen to my beloved boy… 

© 2013 Soma-ko


Author's Note

Soma-ko
This is actually an old short story that I wrote around two years ago, and I've just rediscovered it. Edited it a bit, and albeit, I am not the most profound story writer, I hope you enjoy it.

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Reviews

I loved the teleporting realities, it worked very well with what you were trying to accomplish here. The story was well written and it certainly deserves a place in my contest! Congratz!



Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Soma-ko

6 Years Ago

Thank you, and I'm so glad you liked it. :)
Malark

6 Years Ago

If you're interested in reading something ominous and intriguing, check out some of my stuff. I guar.. read more
Soma-ko

6 Years Ago

Hahaha, will do.
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NA
wow...well color me impressed...that was awesome! I was totally engrossed, you did a fantastic job...loved it! :)

Posted 6 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

NA

6 Years Ago

ooo look forward to that :)
Soma-ko

6 Years Ago

I also rearranged the order for my poems, so there may be one or two you've might've overlooked.
read more
NA

6 Years Ago

ahhh I shall seeee ty :)

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Added on May 14, 2013
Last Updated on May 15, 2013
Tags: Horror, Blood, Death, Bonds, Scars, Phycological, Soma, Cliche

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Soma-ko
Soma-ko

NY



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