Monstrosity
Charles
Charles couldn't even keep his eyes open. He had taken his pills last night like he normally did, but instead of being able to go straight to sleep he felt like he was constantly on the verge of unconsciousness but never quite being able to escape there. This made him unaware to any of his surroundings so the fact that he was no longer in his bedroom didn't even occur to him.
He was tied to a chair and his head hung against his chest. There was no strength in his muscles, and even if there were, he didn't have the energy to lift his head up. He just wanted to sleep. That's all. Just fucking sleep and be away from everything in life–away from Felicity, away from his parents, away from all the people who called him a nutjob.
There was a noise in the room, something that he picked up on but didn't react to. It sounded distant, far off, but it was someone entering the room he was confined in. They wore a mask even though Charles could barely even remember his own name at that moment in time.
"You're weak."
Charles reacted to the words, trying to move his head to see what was going on. Someone had spoken, whether it was to him or someone else, he didn't know. What he did know was that there had been someone talking, and he wanted to know who that someone was. But after a few moments trying to move his head but being unable to lift it up, he gave up.
"Far too weak to be of any use. Your mind isn't strong enough for the Gods."
He tried to recall the last thing he had done before taking his pills. He remembered there was shouting. Felicity was annoyed. There was someone at the door, someone who wanted to see him. He tried to think about whether he knew who it was but came up with a blank. Everything seemed fuzzy, like something was clouding his mind and restricting his memories. Felicity must know about it. She knew everything even if he hated it. She'd know what he had done, and maybe she'd be able to tell him why there was shouting. He could recall watching something on the telly–the news, maybe–but it was barely there in his mind.
The person in the room went over to the table next to the chair and picked up the funnel that laid on it. With one quick movement, they grasped Charles by the hair and dragged his head up, revealing his closed eyes that seemed to be flickering as he tried to open them. His mouth was partly open which allowed the person to slide the tip of the funnel into his mouth, making his lips part even further.
Charles could feel that there was something in his mouth, but when he tried to lift his hand to feel what it was he found that he couldn't. His hands seemed to no longer exist, much like his sight seemed to no longer be there. For a moment he fought to pry his eyes open, even if they only opened a little of the way, but his fight was futile and he gave up. His tongue tried pushing the foreign object from his mouth, but it was too heavy for him to do.
On the table sat two bottles of vodka, untouched and neat. The person picked up one of them, unscrewed the top and hovered it over the opening of the funnel. "I'm making you what everyone thinks you are," they said before tipping the liquid into the funnel. It slid down the end and into Charles' mouth. He felt it fill his mouth and he struggled to get his muscles working to swallow it. Slowly, some started to slide down his throat and he felt a strange sensation, almost like his windpipe was contracting. The muscles in his throat started to work, but slowly and not at the same consistency as the liquid being poured in.
Suddenly the person moved the bottle and held it upright, stopping the flow of liquid before placing it on the table and reaching for the bottle of pills next to it, the label on the bottle reading 'prescription of Charles Jones' and stating clearly that no more than two should be taken within the course of twelve hours. The lid was uncapped and, without so much as a glance at the level of alcohol still in the utensil, the person dumped the entire contents of the bottle into the funnel.
Charles was struggling to breath, his airway becoming clogged with the liquid and pills that were seeping down the funnel and getting stuck in his throat. His muscles refused to work properly and slowly he began to feel himself choking. It was a terrible feeling and no matter how much he tried to free his airway, it didn't work. Instead, it seemed to become more clogged and encased his head in a surreal cloud of mist. This was when the person observed that Charles had lost all consciousness and was choking to death.
They checked the watch on their wrist and when it struck five past, removed the funnel from his mouth and watched the wasted liquid run down his chin, the odd pill or two falling with it. Charles remained still, eyes closed and lips parted. There was no life in his body, no movement of his chest and no breath coming from his mouth–the person checked that to make sure. It was now time for the final bit.
Untying Charles, the person hauled him over his shoulder and left the room that his death had occurred in. His body was placed in the person's car and the drive begun, with the destination being one that Charles hadn't been in for years: the local high school.
Once there, the person removed the body from the car, along with a bag of necessaries, and walked around the building towards the front entrance. It was dark out and no one was around, but that was a given as it had just passed on into the early hours of the morning. Monday morning, to be precise. This gave the person only a few hours before people would slowly starting to turn up, but oh what a turnout it would become.
They placed Charles on the ground, and with going through the bag, withdrew the rope and nails from within. When one end of the rope was nailed firmly into the door, the person hauled Charles up and tied the free end around his wrist. This was repeated with his other wrist and when both were done, the middles of the rope were lifted towards the top of the door and nailed together, suspending Charles' body from the ground.
It was a lesson for Charles, the one who had a weak mind that was no good, and what better place to display the lesson than at the local high school?
He was tied to a chair and his head hung against his chest. There was no strength in his muscles, and even if there were, he didn't have the energy to lift his head up. He just wanted to sleep. That's all. Just fucking sleep and be away from everything in life–away from Felicity, away from his parents, away from all the people who called him a nutjob.
There was a noise in the room, something that he picked up on but didn't react to. It sounded distant, far off, but it was someone entering the room he was confined in. They wore a mask even though Charles could barely even remember his own name at that moment in time.
"You're weak."
Charles reacted to the words, trying to move his head to see what was going on. Someone had spoken, whether it was to him or someone else, he didn't know. What he did know was that there had been someone talking, and he wanted to know who that someone was. But after a few moments trying to move his head but being unable to lift it up, he gave up.
"Far too weak to be of any use. Your mind isn't strong enough for the Gods."
He tried to recall the last thing he had done before taking his pills. He remembered there was shouting. Felicity was annoyed. There was someone at the door, someone who wanted to see him. He tried to think about whether he knew who it was but came up with a blank. Everything seemed fuzzy, like something was clouding his mind and restricting his memories. Felicity must know about it. She knew everything even if he hated it. She'd know what he had done, and maybe she'd be able to tell him why there was shouting. He could recall watching something on the telly–the news, maybe–but it was barely there in his mind.
The person in the room went over to the table next to the chair and picked up the funnel that laid on it. With one quick movement, they grasped Charles by the hair and dragged his head up, revealing his closed eyes that seemed to be flickering as he tried to open them. His mouth was partly open which allowed the person to slide the tip of the funnel into his mouth, making his lips part even further.
Charles could feel that there was something in his mouth, but when he tried to lift his hand to feel what it was he found that he couldn't. His hands seemed to no longer exist, much like his sight seemed to no longer be there. For a moment he fought to pry his eyes open, even if they only opened a little of the way, but his fight was futile and he gave up. His tongue tried pushing the foreign object from his mouth, but it was too heavy for him to do.
On the table sat two bottles of vodka, untouched and neat. The person picked up one of them, unscrewed the top and hovered it over the opening of the funnel. "I'm making you what everyone thinks you are," they said before tipping the liquid into the funnel. It slid down the end and into Charles' mouth. He felt it fill his mouth and he struggled to get his muscles working to swallow it. Slowly, some started to slide down his throat and he felt a strange sensation, almost like his windpipe was contracting. The muscles in his throat started to work, but slowly and not at the same consistency as the liquid being poured in.
Suddenly the person moved the bottle and held it upright, stopping the flow of liquid before placing it on the table and reaching for the bottle of pills next to it, the label on the bottle reading 'prescription of Charles Jones' and stating clearly that no more than two should be taken within the course of twelve hours. The lid was uncapped and, without so much as a glance at the level of alcohol still in the utensil, the person dumped the entire contents of the bottle into the funnel.
Charles was struggling to breath, his airway becoming clogged with the liquid and pills that were seeping down the funnel and getting stuck in his throat. His muscles refused to work properly and slowly he began to feel himself choking. It was a terrible feeling and no matter how much he tried to free his airway, it didn't work. Instead, it seemed to become more clogged and encased his head in a surreal cloud of mist. This was when the person observed that Charles had lost all consciousness and was choking to death.
They checked the watch on their wrist and when it struck five past, removed the funnel from his mouth and watched the wasted liquid run down his chin, the odd pill or two falling with it. Charles remained still, eyes closed and lips parted. There was no life in his body, no movement of his chest and no breath coming from his mouth–the person checked that to make sure. It was now time for the final bit.
Untying Charles, the person hauled him over his shoulder and left the room that his death had occurred in. His body was placed in the person's car and the drive begun, with the destination being one that Charles hadn't been in for years: the local high school.
Once there, the person removed the body from the car, along with a bag of necessaries, and walked around the building towards the front entrance. It was dark out and no one was around, but that was a given as it had just passed on into the early hours of the morning. Monday morning, to be precise. This gave the person only a few hours before people would slowly starting to turn up, but oh what a turnout it would become.
They placed Charles on the ground, and with going through the bag, withdrew the rope and nails from within. When one end of the rope was nailed firmly into the door, the person hauled Charles up and tied the free end around his wrist. This was repeated with his other wrist and when both were done, the middles of the rope were lifted towards the top of the door and nailed together, suspending Charles' body from the ground.
It was a lesson for Charles, the one who had a weak mind that was no good, and what better place to display the lesson than at the local high school?