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Master strolls over to his desk, then searches through the various drawers. “I need you to kill the man staying in room 203 at the Sheraton tonight. Sleep in his bed and wait for further instruction.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for…” He says, more absorbed by his search than our conversation. “Ah, here it is.” Master returns into view with his hand wrapped around the handle of a spoon. He holds the rounded tip up to his nose, then sniffs it. “What?”
Master makes his way over to me, stops, then stares plainly into my eyes.
“What?” I say.
He places his thumbs on my temples. “I don’t think you’re half as handsome as she thinks.”
“As who thinks? What are you doing?”
Master stabs the blunt end of the spoon into my chest.
“Ah!” I scream.
He grinds it in until the pressure is enough to break through my skin and tear into my muscle. I rock my head back and scream. Master carves out a portion of my flesh, then digs in again. And again. The pain is real – I feel Master scrape out my chest, piece by piece, with the round tip of the silverware. He plucks out one chuck of flesh after another.
The pain from his endless digging only intensifies as more time passes. My eyes roll back in my head, and I shout in terror. So much blood splashes off my tongue I’m forced to shut my mouth to save my nose from the stench of it.
- Thomas M. Watt
Thomas M. Watt 