The Walls are Tearing Open

The girl thrashed around against her restraints. Her wrists and ankles were bleeding against the dark material that held her down. She screamed against the gag already soaked with saliva and blood from where she bit her tongue. Dr. Johnson could make out some words that slipped through the girl’s teeth. Words from a lullaby, something about puppets. It was all nonsense, though. The girl was insane. Her eyes were wild and afraid, and her screams constantly echoed through the halls with the other test subjects. The girl was dressed in a white gown that fell to her ankles, but it was always wrinkled and rolled from the girl’s squirming.

“Give her another dose.” Dr. Johnson said, waving her hand to a man in a lab coat.

“Are you sure? She has already had two. It could result in a . . .” The man protested.

The doctor cut him off. “I don’t care. She’s a test subject. If this fails, we’ll try another one.” Behind her back, Johnson crossed her fingers, hoping that this would be the final test subject. The man nodded, grabbing a syringe, approaching the girl. She saw him, her eyes widened and her shaking body shook harder. She pulled against the restraints, her body an earthquake.

The man put a cold hand on her forehead, holding her head in place. He slid the needle into a vein in her neck, the green liquid in the syringe disappearing.

The girl stilled. Johnson walked to her and removed the gag. She just lay there. The room was silent. There was no screaming, no thrashing, nothing. Johnson stared, along with several other members of the staff in scrubs. Somebody coughed in the corner of the room. The girl turned her head.

“I must silence it. It’s too noisy. It’s too noisy and it’s shaking the earth and the walls are tearing open like the flesh of a stomach and intestines are pouring out and . . .” The girl stared, her eyes wide. “There’s so much blood.” She whispered.

Johnson started toward her, but the girl spoke again.

“But that doesn’t bother me. I like the smell. I’d think it would taste nice too.” Tears started pouring from her eyes, and a pained look crossed her face. “Look what you did to me.” Johnson could tell the girl was addressing her, even though she wasn’t looking at her.

“Prepare her for surgery. She’s ready.” Johnson said. Several of the staff walked toward the girl, gripping the sides of the table, wheeling it away.

“Look what you did to me! I can’t . . . I just . . .” The girl yelled, but her voice faded away when the doors swung closed behind her. Johnson exhaled, tucking a loose blonde curl behind her ear. Her ponytail had been tight when she first put it in, but it had loosened after the hours she had been working. Several strands hung loose, and her frizz started to show.

“Clean the room and prep another subject in case something goes wrong.” She ordered.

The man next to her nodded, his face empty. Johnson turned and left the room, letting the door swing closed behind her, not flinching like she normally did when slammed shut. She walked as fast as she could down the hall, to the room where the surgery would take place. She stood in an observation room with a window in which somebody on the other side would not be able to look through.

Johnsen pressed her lips together as they wheeled the girl in. They tightened the restraints on her arms and legs, and added an extra one to hold her head down. The girl screamed, thrashing around again. Johnson stood for half an hour while the surgeons readied themselves, and, under her orders, gave the girl just enough anesthetics so she was still awake for most of the experience.

*****

It took a while to be done with the surgery. Johnson watched every second of it, every split of flesh beneath a scalpel, every scream of agony from the girl. Her eyes were wild with panic.

Something strange happened toward the end. The girl’s pained expression faded, and at first, Johnson thought she had finally passed out from the pain, but no. She stared at the ceiling, blinking and breathing the only sign that she was still alive. The pain had dulled. She no longer felt it. It was one of the millions of feelings she was experiencing at that moment, and it was no different from the anger and the insanity that overtook her. She was used to it. Perfect.

The surgeons finished. They backed away from the girl, their insane patient. Johnson knocked on the glass, her way to ask if she could come in. Somebody nodded, and Johnson opened a door and stepped into the operating room. The girl was still silent, still frozen with tears at her eyes.

Johnson approached her, taking in the scars all over her body, where bones had been reinforced and senses had been enhanced. Blood spatters were all over the table, and the girl’s wrists were bleeding again. Out of curiosity, she quickly and gently ran her finger over the girl’s palm. The girl’s fingers snapped shut, her hand curling into a fist. As if Johnson had pressed a power button, the girl sprang to life. Her eyes fixed themselves on her, her head turned, and her expression turned hateful.

“Well done, everybody. We made a weapon.” Johnson announced. A murmur of muffled agreements rose into the air before quickly falling.

“No.” The girl said, tears streaming down her face. It had flickered from a face of insanity to an innocent child’s. “You made a monster.” The words caught in her throat before her face became filled with rage and madness.

Johnson stared at the girl as she started to sing in a crystal voice.

“We’re made of gold, but we still have strings. Silver clothes but no diamond rings. We’re bathed in silk, but no right to sing. Let us go, you wretched thing.” She seemed to be trying to cling onto her past self, despite what she’d become.

The girl passed out.

Reviews

[Jacob Clifford]

An air of mystery. This story was written well, and I like the deviations from the cliche-type of torture story.

[TheShadowsWithin]

Thank you!