They Come for Your Skin

Barbara Part 1

Experience 8

I nervously watched the Desolation float around my beautiful corner office. I couldn't believe it had actually shown up. I couldn't believe that my life was in mortal danger. I couldn't believe that the idiot employee in front of me was refusing to follow along with my ingenious plan of escape.

It moved into the side of the room while my eyes tracked it obsessively. The terror coursed through me once more as it turned to face me rather than pass through the wall. It made another circle around the room then headed towards the door.

I almost sighed in relief. I could see the rest of my underlings already shuffling to the stairs. They must not know it was in here. Once they were caught I could find a way to slip out safely. A smile broke across my face at the realization that I wouldn't have to fire all the imbeciles myself. The Desolation would take care of them for me.

Then, movement out of the corner of my eye. Adrenaline shot through me as I raised a hand reflexively to defend myself. My hand instinctively closed around the airborne object, and I stared at it for a moment in total confusion.

It was a cinnamon roll. A partially eaten cinnamon roll. A glance at the man sitting across from me confirmed my suspicion that he had thrown it.

I wanted to be angry, forgetting my situation entirely for a moment, but the look on his face told me I was missing something important.

The Desolation.

Had I made a noise catching the roll?

My eyes shot back to the door. It wasn't there.

I tried to look around, but a pressure on my neck made me freeze.

Ice-cold fingers wrapped around my throat from behind. The feeling of that grip, those knives slicing into the top layers of my skin with so little pressure, that feeling told me that there would be no escape.

Even the slightest movement on my part would push those razor-sharp fingers deep into my windpipe. My lifeblood would flow out of me in torrents ruining my beautiful mahogany desk and plush white carpet.

When the other hand pierced the skin at the base of my neck I rethought my decision to stay still. The pain was unbearable already though I knew it was only going to get worse. I wanted to fight. I wanted to struggle. Even if it meant my death, I didn't want to give in to it.

My body wouldn't move. It betrayed me. Screams poured out of me instead as the finger began to slip downward, neatly separating the skin of my back. And still, I couldn't move. I couldn't die.

It made its way down my back and didn't pause as it cut right through the small tattoo I had gotten in college. My mind involuntarily flashed back to that first moment the ink gun had touched my flesh. I had thought I was being stabbed. I had thought it would be the worst pain I would ever experience.

Oh, how wrong I had been.

When the creature hit my waist I longed for the sweet feeling of the tattoo gun. Its finger twisted, and it began to travel down my left leg. My back had been painful enough, but the skin of my thigh was even more sensitive. I could feel the needle-point-tip gently graze the tendons behind my knee as it passed, ever so careful to not damage any internal piece of me.

After splitting open the sole of my foot there was one brief moment of freedom. I gasped in breath and panted for relief.

Then the finger pushed back into my waist and began its way down my other leg.

It's the last clear memory I have. After that my brain pulled me inside itself and sheltered me. I could feel the location of the knife, but not the sensation. I could hear screaming, but I didn't know that it was coming from myself.

For a moment, I was a small child again. A weak little girl, sitting quietly in the dark, watching another atrocity unfold.

I watched as it moved to my arms. I watched as it split the skin down the back of my hand all the way to the tip of my middle finger. I watched as my lungs gave out and my screaming turned to incoherent whispers.

I felt the blood run down my throat. I felt it run out of my limbs. I felt it pool at my feet, ruining my posh carpet after all.

Then the finger slid behind the skin on my back and begin tearing, seperating.

I slipped even deeper into myself, blocking out all light and sensation.

I was in my childhood bed cowering under the covers. There were shouts and bangs from the next room, but I knew that I would be safe as long as I stayed under my warm duvet.

My vision came back for a moment, and I saw a face smiling at me. Then, I was no more. The darkness took everything.

The next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital.

Not a hospital bed mind you, just a hospital. I wasn't lying down, instead I was suspended upright by a series of straps attached to my body.

I don't remember it very clearly. The world was blurry, and nothing felt right. I wasn't awake for long.

The next time my eyes opened I was in a bed.

My memories came swirling back to me slowly, and I began to panic. I tried to move, but my body wasn't responding properly. I could see the sheets and the pillows beside me, but I didn't seem to have any feeling in my body.

Awareness dawned on me. I had been skinned. Everyone knew what happened in a Desolation attack. If I couldn't feel my body, I must be paralyzed.

I wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted it to not be true. For a long moment, I closed my eyes and prayed for my life to end. Truly nothing could be worse than this, not even death.

It took a few minutes for things to start making sense. The drugs were still affecting me heavily, but soon I realized a problem with my theory.