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Surgical Instruments
I blinked in a bright light as the world filled in around me, flooding my eyes with a blinding blur of white. It was lucid and foggy in fresh conciousness, each of my senses dulled to a near nothingness for a reason beyond my sluggish mental grasp. The only knowledge I had of my current predicument was that I had recently gotten a job on the farther side of the country, a plane ticket and address all that was included in the envelope that had arrived at my home last Tuesday. 


"She's waking Doctor," a voice as deep as a tuba sang, each syllable muffled and distant as it droned in my eardrums.


My eyes adjusted to the brightness, soaking in the information that came in mere seconds. I was on my back, a bland white ceiling of flimsy corkboard and flourescent lights tucked into an organized pattern rested several feet above me. A few green spots blocked several stretches of the plain sight before me, each one sporting a tan or brown face with a cover overlapping their mouths. The darkest face was almost directly above me, the black beads in his visage reflecting small, blurry images of myself.


"Thats fine, Nurse," responded a different voice, one akin to the deep hum of a computer on start up. "We're done with the life threatening stage." 


The Nurse stared down at me for a minute as I became more alert, shedding the mist that clouded my mind like the fog over the distant city of San Francisco. The expression he wore was one of mystery as it hid behind the white surgical mask that tucked behind his ears. 


I tried to shift my hand, the numbness that had released my brain still lingering on my body. I got no response. My muscles were locked to the flat platform I laid upon without the use any restraints, an odd feeling that only intensified my need to squirm. Even my eyes were stripped of motion, glued to the Nurse above me as he stared down at me. Only my eyelids retained motion, fluttering helplessly under the harsh glare of the lights.


"Hello Miss," the second voice spoke in a tone of false hospility, a new green-trimmed tan face sliding into my range of vision. This one carried a large set of black glasses on his nose. The lenses flared up in the room's white fire, ingulfing his eyes in a game of keep away.


I stared up blankly, a sense of curiousity being kindled inside of me by the people and surroundings I found myself staged in.


The man reached beyond my view, returning with a brown slab of wood that was topped with a piece of metal. He lifted a piece of paper and let it drape over the shining steel, his eyes crawling over a different piece located underneath.


"Miss April Wells, right?" He turned his glasses to me, his masked expression beyond my ability to interprit as emotion. I blinked in response, a difficult feat of communication. He turned away, returning no acknowledgement of my efforts. He carried himself beyond the world I saw, the clicks of his shoes edged with a sticking sound. It seemed as if the floor was trying to devour him.


"It seems we're done here, Miss Wells," He said in a well rehearsed voice, the sound of paper turning replacing the sounds of the floor. It was followed by a clank of metal hitting a surface, which I could only assume meant he had put the clipboard down. "Thank you for your..." He paused as he thought, returning from the depths of his mind with a hiss. "volenteering."


With that a small sharp pain came from my side, becoming sharper and duller in waves as the man worked his hands on me. An unsettling feeling came over me,one that I could not facially express as the darker of the duo stared down at me. A third face -- a rounder one of a female that had been skirting around the edge of my sight like a spider this entire time -- peered over me, her eyebrows expressing that of sympathy.


Who any of these people were was beyond anything I could fathom, and as the pain and silence ensued a panic took its hold on me. My fingers twitched, a sliver of control coming to me as I layed there helplessly, three people working what I could only assume to be horrid acts on my body. With the pain ebbing away for the umpteenth time I acter, shoving all my near-none strength into my fingers as I pushed up on the surface.


The lady yelped and the doctor dropped something, a small clatter resinating through the small room. I was now on my side, terror gripping me as my eyes were assalted by the truth.


The floor was covered in dark brown patches, spread out underneath the shining silver table I was on. Lining the walls were small shelves a few inches shy from my previous upward vision, each board packed with shimmering glass jars that were dressed in white labels with black lines running down them as thin as a hair. Most of them were also filled with a thickly dark liquid, containing dark masses of different shapes. My heart skipped a beat as gaps filled in my mind, my predicument coming to a clarity that horrified me to the core. 


The female grabbed my shoulder quickly, jerking me back to the ceiling with a light thump. "Sedate her," the doctor said, who now had his glasses only a few inches from my face. He pulled back as the male nurse placed a plastic mask on my face.


-   -   -


I opened my eyes to white tile lined with a green mold, the fog had returned to my brain, my eyes wandering around my surroundings. I was stuck between three walls of a similar state, the fourth one made up of shattered glass and air. Beyond it was huge shards of a mirror, hanging haphazardly from the rotting wood that made up the room.It was obvious termites took residence here, large holes dotting the walls that leaked weak streams of light from the sun. Formerly white piece of porcelain jutted out of the corner, which must of been the remains of a toilet. My body was laying in a bathtub, absorbing water that ice was secreting as it melted from my body heat.


My heart sank. I was in a bathroom. I blinked the fog away, the past events entering my mind in snippets. i suddenly grew anxious and grabbed at my shirt, pulling it upward and inspecting my side. A long red incision ran from my ribcage to my thigh, connected by a slim black thread that was hastily scrawled in and out of the line at random intervals. 


My eyes grew wide as I tried not to touch it, fearful for what damage that trio had done. I looked around frantically, my eyes getting netted by a small scrap of paper that layed on the rusty remains of the bath's faucet. 


Call 911.


Dusty (talk) 22:44, March 31, 2014 (UTC)


Author's NoteEdit

So this pasta was based off of a certain urban legend, if you've ever heard of it. Thing is that one was actually true; a man was hired for a construction job which he showed up to before waking up in a bathtub full of ice, with a note nearby that said call 911. I suggest you do some research on the topic, the man lost a kidney for it, and it's a testament that people will really do just about anything for money, even harvesting stranger's organs.

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