It came down again… Harder than he'd swung it before.
This time I couldn't feel the fingers fall away from my hand.
That was the last two on my right hand and if my blurred vision served me correctly, about a 6th of my palm and the two knuckles in there went with it.
But I still jerked and thrashed in my leather straps. as if I was in pain...
'Was I putting on a show?'
'He'd like that... a show...'
'This has all been a sick show.
Watching me afraid.
Watching me froth.
Like a caged animal.'
No this wasn't some cinematic for the dead eyes that have been on me for the last several hours... (days?)
The reaction to the separation was expected from my body. A natural wail of the personal cataclysm being thrust upon it. Around it. Inside it...
The lack of a shriek seemed to startle him.
The way his low humming stopped.
The first time he'd not held that tune in days. since I first saw him...
A hood shielded any expression from being deciphered... but even through my blurry vision... I could tell he'd expected me to shriek from the pain as I'd done so before.
A moment of silence, and for the first time I noticed that the cellar I was in smelled like...manure and turpentine cleaner.
As if someone had tried to clean up the shit stains before I made my arrival.
The low watt florescent light that swayed from its unmounted wiring above me seemed brighter today.
The cracked leather under my arms chewed away at what was left of them.
In any other scenario, I would've thought this vintage barber chair was nostalgic... resembling something from circa 1960.
So rustic.
'Such a thrift store buy...'
The manure and turpentine stung at my nostrils. My stomach lurched.
Blood and bile... down my chin and rolling across my bare chest and stomach like lava.
The silence was broken by a sigh.
"You're messier than the last."
I looked up through the haze at his silhouette and found my resolve.
"Kill me. Please..."
More silence.
"Kill me you piece of shit!"
More silence.
I began to weep.
"Please... God please let this end. Please kill me."
A raspy chuckle started to wheeze from his chest, just on the outskirts of the light.
In the dark I watched as his silhouette reached for the old toolbench at the far-right wall.
I leaned my head back and stared through my foggy lens at the rafters.
'I hear steps above me... but when I scream... they don't come help... why?'
His chuckle choked into a hysterical laugh as I looked up to witness the swing of whatever... of something, it blocked the light for just a moment.
And then I was gone...