Iron Chair

iron chairShe opened her eyes. She tried moving her hands, but found her movement was restricted. She tried screaming, but the sound was muffled by the tape covering her mouth. Every morning she woke up this way; for a few brief moments she would forget the horrific events of the past 3 months.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Every morning he waited by the bed for her to wake up so he could begin his ritual beatings. He unchained her and took her to the iron chair as he called it, even though it was made out of logs. By now the logs were stained red. He stripped off her clothes, shoved her into the chair and chained her to it. Then he removed the tape so he could hear every scream she let out.

Like every day since he brought her here, he beat her with various objects including his hands, for three hours exactly. He carefully chose his tools depending on his mood. Some days he would choose a hammer and create bruises across her body. Today he chose a screwdriver. The screwdriver dug into her skin, cutting and tearing. Blood covered her body, creating a sticky, crimson coating. When the timer went off, signaling him to stop, he covered her in a blanket to soak up the blood. He then threw some logs on the fire and left the cabin for a few hours.

Upon his return he stared at her in the chair, admiring the cuts on her face.

“Aren’t you worried someone will figure out that you have me here?”

Her voice took him by surprise. She had not said a word to him since the first day he brought her here.

When the shock wore off he smiled and whispered, “No one will ever find us out here.”

“I’m counting on it,” she retorted.

His eyes were in a permanent awe as she stabbed him with the fireplace poker; he hadn’t put the chains on tight enough today. She stood over him as the blood poured out of his body. When she could no longer see the blood coming out, she opened the cabin door and began dragging his body outside. She struggled under his weight, but eventually was able to get his lifeless body into the snow. Using her hands she shoveled snow onto his body until the red was replaced by the crisp white of the fresh snow. She started trembling; her body finally realized it was in below-freezing weather.

She ran back inside the cabin to escape the winter weather. She started to pick up another log to put into the fire but she saw the iron chair out of the corner of her eye. She slammed it against the floor, breaking it into pieces, and threw them into the fire.

She sat on the floor watching the flames devour the chair. She was no longer cold.

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      I am very pleased with the work you've done on my book.  Your suggestions and corrections were spot-on and you took my lumps of words and smoothed them out in to a what now reads as a polished and certainly more fluid piece. I wish you and Pypeline much success and do see a busy future for the two of you. I am working on other projects and will no doubt call on you again for help.  ”
Joseph L. Cacibauda
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