Reads: 216  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: June 22, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 22, 2012



i don't really want to think of it as a showdown. no, she was my friend. the perfect match, engineered by the lab. just for me.

or just for her, as the doctors had told her.

her chocolate-colored skin was tougher than mine, but in this light you could see the ghosts of thirty-seven scars running up and down her arms. the rest of her was covered by the thick cotton gown we all had to wear. her dark brown hair that she always had curled around her fingers, resulting in thin ringlets, dangled down, as if it were trying to reach for the cool, linolium floor. her eyes are like marbles, pure white, with tiny blood vessels running across the surface. they look painted-on. her mouth hangs open in a perfect 'o'. none of her teeth are visible, it is just one black hole, leading down.

she stands looking down, hunched over and loose. the one working light in this room illuminates a circle at her feet. i timidly sneak in, or try to. my bare feet stick to the tiles, and make a sound when i unstick them. i keep right up against the plain white wall, hoping that her white, rolled-back eyes aren't able to see. somehow i realize that something is now doing the seeing for her. i slowly place my foot into the room, as i step out of the security of the dark hallway. her head snaps up, and so does the light. as the light blinds me, i take a step backwards, retreating back into the hallway. as soon as i am out of the room, her eyes snap back to the floor. the light follows her gaze.

"how nice of you to join me," her voice echoes from her throat, yet her lips are stationary. i gulp, and step into the room once more. this time, the light and her gaze remain fixed on the tile below her.

"so, how are things?" she asks. her voice is completely emotionless, like that of the doctors and the speaking machines.

"good, good. how are you?" i can only play along, and hope that she isn't injured.

"you thought it would last." although on the surface, her voice still retains the same, i can feel that it is directed to injure me.

"you idiot. 'the perfect match' and 'experimental neural therapy' never made you think, did they? you never realized anything. you never looked beyond what was directly under your nose. you wanted what you wanted when you wanted it. and you got it, because you wanted so much and so little at the same time." the malice is beginning to show on the outer layer of her voice. how unlike the machine that is projecting from inside of her. it can't be her talking. i can't believe that.

"ah, well..." she straitens up, as if someone had just inserted a metal rod under her skin to replace her spine. her eyes are still white and unblinking, her skin pale, like she had been extremely scared. her open mouth closes, then begins to open again. but instead of opening into an 'o', her lips part to show her teeth, pale and disgusting, although i always remembered admiring them before, their perfection.

"ah, well..." she repeats.

and she begins to move. it is as if someone has tied string around her wrists, elbows, shoulders, knees, and feet. first her right elbow jerks upward, then the left. then, in one swift movement, she is suspended in the beam of light cast by the light. thanks to that one working bulb, i can see that there IS string tied around her. her movements are being directed by tiny mechanical arms that dance along ruts in the ceiling, conducting an inaudible symphony, with her as the mediator.

her smile is killing me. i have never seen her face twist like that. her mouth is forced open by thin metal fingers crawling up through her throat. where they scratch her skin, her flesh is pulled and slit, but she doesn't look as if she can feel anything. the metal fingers continue climbing, grasping, and cutting. soon, the skin on her neck is mutilated, although there is minimal blood. only tiny spheres dot the surface of her dark skin. none has fallen to the ground. yet.

suddenly and without warning, steel tentacles rip out of her stomach. flesh and blood is sent flying in all directions, and i am not spared. a small splat lands on my forehead, and another on my gown. i ignore it, though. i am watching my best friend die. again.

the tentacles reach up and down, left and right. they seem to be grasping for something they can't reach, like blind earthworms, undulating in the thin medium that is air. their miniscule links are untouched by the gore that once filled a living body. the body that was once my friend.

i keep lingering on that thought, that my friend is now dead, or dying. i can't help but ponder that idea as the tentacles reach up, wrapping around locks of her hair. in one brutal movement, they yank downwards as her scalp is pulled off of her head, her flesh peeling like the skin of a banana. the cuts the fingers make aid in the quest of the tentacles. soon, her entire face is laying in peices on the floor. now the blood is pooling on the tiles. the skin on her neck is shredded, and the blood from her exposed muscles is now flying in every direction. the ceiling is beginning to be painted red, the arms that conduct her every movement have a few drops on them, but because of the smoothness of the surface, the drops are pulled down to the floor by the selfish gravity.

now both of our gowns are soaked in blood. the back of mine has been spared, even though hers hasn't. her entire gown is blood red.

as though i am in a trance, i walk towards her corpse. the tentacles and fingers reach towards me, inviting me to join her. i won't, not now, at least. if i am to die, it will be at my own hand. i carefully shuffle forwards, my bare feet leaving marks in the sea of blood i wade through. the machine reaches, straining her skin in their furious attempts to shred my skin like they have done to hers. my hands reach up, and even though my fingers and brain are numb, i am able to undo the knots that bind her arm, that puppet her still.

soon, she is lying in her own blood. i stand, holding onto the last string i had freed her from.

three weeks later i killed myself.

© Copyright 2018 Syrest. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Science Fiction Short Stories