Masochistic

She stood still, arms raised towards the ceiling, bonded, held together, not allowing her to escape her chosen moment. She’d played most of his games, those annoying circumstances that had belittled her, annoyed her, angered her imagination as well as awoken something that she’d needed for a very, very long time.

He was that masochistic bastard, the man that broke the mould, that had redefined her daily routine and freed her from boredom and despair. The nice guys, the trouble-free men, with their smiles and gratitude, just bored her to real actual tears. They’d say the right things, using all of the words that life had trained them to use, without ever stopping to realise that stimulation began with fire and a gentle tease. They knew what to say, often what to do, but this place was her decision and for once, she welcomed her captivator.

She looked at him, doing his thing and making her wait, as she tried to imagine the game he’d be creating within his head. He had her, hook, line, without even mentioning his rod once. She just wanted him inside of her but, instead, he simply wished to fuel his own gratuitous, deprived, sexual gratification of her humiliation. She had her shit together, working as she did, despite every morning being the same drawn out, withered expanse of vacant futility. He, on the other hand, brought forward her desire.

Each morning, each of the days apart from him, she’d wake to feel his presence around her. His touch, his damned tease, enabling each day to pass with speed until their next encounter. She wanted more, much more, despite the game being completely within his terms and demands.

He turned, smiling, showing her those damn eyes of his. Soft, gentle, hiding his thoughts which she’d come to seemingly understand. If she were honest, really honest, she had no idea of what happened within his mind. He seemed to be confused, contradictory, a conflicted individual, that knew which buttons she needed to be pressed. He’d sent her photos, to work, that he’d taken when she was being pleased by him. At first, with her pulse racing, she’d found the moment disturbing, disrespectful, yet, after a while, she gave in to his way of thinking. Life wasn’t worth living without being played with, on each and every single level.

He’d warned her, at the start, that she’d often feel the way she felt. Humiliated. An object. An entity to provide him with gratification and enjoyment. She didn’t seem to mind, now, seeing as she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to do so. She didn’t. She needed this. She could taste his kisses upon her whenever her mind’s control lapsed. She could feel him, around her, over her, during each of the days. At least with him, in this case, he was honest with what he intended to do and how he’d make her feel. She despised liars, those lies, that the others always seemed to use to get what they wanted.

He approached, removing his crisp shirt, still holding his gaze to hers. She just wanted him. Her eager, solemn filled face, begging for more. Something, anything, one step further, to make all of the things he’d done worthwhile. It had to be time. He moved around her, his fingers finding her top. She held the black rope as he pressed himself against her, from behind, ripping open her blouse. She could feel him, growing, becoming what she needed within her.

She felt his warm breath against her neck, as his hands moved down her front, to lift up her small skirt. She’d come prepared, ready, just in case he finally gave her what she wanted. He couldn’t deny her again, not after all of the moments they’d shared, the tease, the taunts and the humiliation. He’d denied himself, as he simply could not hide that from her.

His hands left her body, as she heard him remove the belt from around his pants, throwing it aside. The seconds moved, the moment lingering, as he slowly placed his body against hers. Again, the ceiling mounted rope tensed, her grip once again embracing the moment, as he entered her from behind. Her mouth opened, the moment made real, as she felt all of him. He moved, slowly, back and forth, as she felt herself embrace him within her.

She didn’t care about the humiliation. She didn’t care that he wasn’t quite the same as the others, as they bored her. She needed his fantasies. She wanted to provide his gratification as, truth be told, she was the exact same masochistic being as him.

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Isolation

Jack placed one hand onto the floor, with the other hand pressing against the side of his head, wishing and hoping that it would somehow stop the pain from within his mind. He coughed a few times, sending the muscles alongside the back of his head into spasm. The pain flexed into his mind, mixing with the thumping agony as another cough sent small drops of blood out onto the clear white floor below him.

He was in isolation, quarantine, surrounded by nothing but white plastic and a white blue light to keep him company. He slowly fell forward, no longer able to hold himself in place, his chin resting against the floor as all effort and struggle stopped. He moved his toes, just a little, trying anything to keep a semblance of hope at the vain chance of a reprieve.

He smiled, for a brief second, as the numbing pain reminded him of his situation, location and chance of recovery. He’d laugh, even cry, if he could summon the energy to do so. He’d signed his life away, on that dotted line, to become one of the few to undertake this discovery session. If he could, he’d most certainly decide to stay at the morning restaurant, eating those delicious flakes that he so dearly wished for at this second in time. He’d do anything, say anything, maybe even kill anyone, to escape the pain.

He winced, as a particularly nasty thump hit the side of his skull, from within. He rolled onto his back, to almost immediately regret the decision, as the contents of his stomach threatened to escape as he wretched. He moved to his side, feeling the contents of his mouth escape past his lips. He slowly moved a hand, to rub his face, only to find that the content was, again, thick red blood.

He coughed again, the aggressive nature of whatever was within, becoming all too realistic. He forced himself to move past the pain, to imagine somewhere else, anywhere else, returning to that place, the place, he held so close to him as a child. A simplistic view, a realistic place. A field of long corn, reaching into the sky to appear just below his chest. He was so young at that time, the moments of simplicity and carefree exuberance. He could feel the corn against his hand, as his fingers skipped over the corn as he walked towards the tree that was sat within the expansive field.

He sat, looking off into the distance, his hand within the present moment, within the isolation cell, raised into the air as he embraced the moment of escapism. He smiled, as the blood trickled over his lips and emotion. For a second, he felt his mind lapse, escape, become free from the moment of pain, sorrow and futility. He loved this place, that place, a place that probably no longer existed. It mattered not as, right at that moment, he’d smiled. He’d felt the escape afforded to his body, until the door across from him opened.

His imagination snapped back to the present moment, his head returning to its thundering crescendo, as his eyes focused upon the person being thrown into the iso-cell. A woman, another person, another soul welcomed into his pain and suffering. He moved from his side, slowly, carefully, trying not to allow his mind to seize onto the possibility of further, breaking, pain. With the most effort he could afford, he dragged himself across the cell to the other side, away from the new person.

He poised himself onto the cell’s wall with his back, his head thumping as he glanced across to the new occupant. He’d speak, he’d say something, anything, but the words simply did not arrive to him as he’d like. He watched with interest, his breathing shallow and broken, as she lifted herself from her crumpled state. Moving her hair to the side, she looked at him, her head down, afraid, wondering what was happening.

“Who are you?” she asked, the confusion present within her voice.

“I’m no-one,” he replied, “or soon to be!”

She placed a hand onto the floor, moving her body towards him.

“Stop. Don’t. I’m infected!”

“I know,” she replied, sending his mind into confusion. He would ask questions, wishing to know more, if anything, of what she’d seen, what she’d witnessed but, instead, his thumping mind simply would not permit further discussion.

She moved forward again. Dragging herself. He looked at her legs, noticing that her feet were black and blue, covered with bruising unlike he’d ever seen. Another lab rat, another willing participant within the black, sick, twisted world of answers that needed the important questions. She moved ever closer, as his mind wished for her to stop.

“Please, don’t!”

His emotion cracked, his resolve broke, as she reached him, holding his hand. She turned, ever so slightly, wrapping her arms around him, as her legs moved up against her chest.

“You’re okay! You will be okay!” she said, with the pure emotion of her very heart escaping with her words.

He felt his heart break, his soul crack in two, as he finally gave in to the torture of the life he’d allowed into his waking breath. Images flashed into his eyes, his final moments, his every need, want and desire within the world, with his emotion pouring out of him as their auras bonded and the connection formed.

He’d always been a proud person, the one to stand tall through anything and everything, but in this very moment, he could no longer hold the pretence together, “I’m scared. I’m so scared.” He placed his arms around her, holding her close, as she raised her head, placing it against his upper chest. He felt the comfort, her embrace, the fear felt by the both of them as his breathing slowed to a soft, calm crawl. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth created by the both of them, the safety within the arms and comfort of another person that understood, that realised, that no trauma should be felt alone.

He felt his mind soften, his pulse relax, as the thumping within his head started to fade. He’d felt this calm, a few seconds ago within the field of his younger self’s memory, but this moment was beyond anything he’d ever felt. All defences, gone, all machinations, defeated, with only the unity of two people together removing the fear of life, as well as death.

The calm within him, the echo of the past few days faded, as his energy started to lift and the mind fog fade. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

--

Jeff, from within the monitoring room, typed his report.

‘Subject twelve immediately responded to the stability afforded by another. He, however, started to stabilise moments before via a currently unknown mental process. Further study is required. It seems that the human condition can be controlled via external emotional connectivity. All pain, panic and trauma cleared within one minute of the embrace. Trial twelve is now 95% complete’

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Piano

Daniel looked out across the large expanse. The devastation, the lack of life, with every single entity crushed or removed from existence. He held onto his beretta M9ai pistol, with one hand, with the m16a4 rifle gripped by the other. He tensed his fingers slightly, wondering why he continued to fight, despite the obvious disadvantage. They were all, each of them, every single person he’d known, loved or remotely cared for, gone.

He shook his head, his body sore from exertion, staying alive, as the heat continued to batter his weary body. He’d dragged himself through this entire mess, further than he’d ever expected to take himself. He’d survived by the very skin upon his flayed hands.

He stepped back a few steps, finally realising the futility of continuing with whatever madness called a mission he’d been set. Turning, he glanced across at one of the very few buildings still standing. Barely. More or less destroyed, with a few walls here and there. He stepped forward, a few steps, allowing his body to finally accept its fate. This was the moment. No more. He simply did not wish to continue. It was over.

He placed a hand against one of the standing walls, feeling the texture, the very essence and years of building design. Humanity’s last day, upon the very world that had created him. He smiled, the realisation settling into his weary mind. Moving away from the wall, he stepped through a broken archway, to see a piano. His smile grew, as he approached the pure work of art. He hadn’t seen such a grand sight for many, many years and right now, it could possibly warm his very soul. He’d enjoy feeling, despite the atrocious events he’d witnessed. The carnage. The depraved skill at which they’d managed to sweep through their desperate strategies.

He placed the rifle against the piano’s leg, with the pistol set aside near the front of the raised, long, wooden lid. His weary shoulders shook away the heavy carry all, as he rested the satchel against the other piano leg. He lifted the top, emotions stirring, as the white and black keys appeared. A work of beauty, a moment of wonder, within the very end of his thoughts. He sat on the small stool, wondering what to play. This, as he realised, might be his very last song. The moment he pressed a key, they’d know his location. He didn’t care. He didn’t mind at all, as his entire world was already gone. His wife, his children, his family, taken from him and that was the only reason to continue to fight. To Daniel, as long as there was one family left alive to protect, he’d do his job. He’d fight until the last drop of blood remained within his battered body.

He pushed aside the realisation that even the underground bunkers, any undersea sanctuaries, had been blown to smithereens. There was the possibility that there was no-one alive to fight for. He placed his hand at the C position, smiling, understanding, that he’d soon see each of his loved ones again. It was time. It was his moment to say goodbye to life.

He moved a set of keys, hearing the majestic sound flow from the piano into the very life-giving air. The silence, this vacant place, suddenly filled with the rapture of creation and life. He continued, the song forming, an amalgamation of every single moment of his imagination and knowledge. He wished for this to start slow, to work forward, to express his inner desire and longing.

Within the moments between keys, he felt them, around him, as his eyes remained firmly closed. He ignored whatever, whomever, had suddenly found him. He continued to play, the hammers striking their chosen chords with effortless perfection. The aural pleasure and splendour still escaping into the stricken, foreboding world. He felt the energy rise within him, the calm breaking into pure emotion as he literally felt the keys auditory reverence.

The beauty, the crescendo of sound and rhythm reaching the pinnacle of his creation, resounded within his heart as his mind accepted the coming moments. The human race, the species that had so much love, so much tolerance, amongst the terrible acts of madness, did not deserve such a messy end. He pressed and held the very last key for his chosen epiphany. It was his time. The moment realised, acted upon, with the resulting rapture coming to an end. He closed the lid, standing, as he moved the stool to his left. He could reach for the rifle, or pistol, but this was the time to end all of the fighting.

He turned, as he opened his eyes. Defiant. Proud. A person that knew his worth and did his duty until the very end. Even though the task was hopeless, he continued and persevered. His eyes glanced across many, many alien armoured souls. Hundreds upon hundreds of them, all gathered around the shattered and virtually vacant building. One the aliens stepped forward and, uncharacteristically, nodded. He’d never witnessed any of them, not one, make such a gesture. They’d seemed almost mechanical in their wanton destruction and this moment, meant that they had a soul, an appreciation, an understanding of what they’d done.

Daniel nodded in return, watching, completely calm, as the long glass blade struck his throat. The world turned black but, within his mind, he could still hear the ecstasy and reverence of his chosen song played upon the beautiful piano. He was free. Finally free.  He could hear his heart fading, lingering, wondering, as his heart stopped. His last thought, his very last gesture before his heart stopped, was to press the the small switch that rested next to his fingertips. The satchel behind him exploded with such force that every single living entity within a five hundred metre radius turned to ash in an instant.

--

The teacher smiled, realising that a few of the class members weren’t really listening, as she continued nonetheless, “Now class, here we have the last known remnant of the Human Race. Upon that day, the last few brave souls hunted and killed the last survivor who, upon that day, played the most majestic instrument we had ever witnessed upon any of the conquered worlds. Upon that last moment, the remaining human sacrificed himself in one vain, dramatic, but fruitless demonstration of futility. Here, next to me, is the instrument that played the song that you’re listening now. This marked the passing of time, of our victory, with the Humans called this item, the piano!”

J&H

Doctor Jekyll lifted the fourteen thousand-pound Armand de Brignac bottle, from the chiller, pouring her another glass of champagne. She was mysterious, eloquent, a delight to be with and an adventurous flirtatious being. He liked the flirting, even loved it, despite being his reserved self. He’d ordered the champagne, disregarding his reservations, against his better judgement. The content, the alcohol, would be absorbed far faster than he’d ideally prefer and that, simply, would not do.

Since he was a child, he’d known that he had something peculiar about his sensibilities. A difference. A feeling from within. He’d witnessed the mood swings, those temperamental moments that didn’t seem like his own. Slowly, like the falling of a shadowed moon, or the creeping of a solitary spider, the other personality worked its way into his life. That ying, with the yang, not quite completing his psyche.

He glanced across to her, holding his eyes to hers as he returned the fantastical bottle to the cooler. She was, simply, magnificent. She’d worn a bodice. An outfit that displayed her finer sensibilities to the world, both of them, pushed up and forward to ensure that she was provided the correct attention. No matter how much of a gentleman he was, at times, he did struggle with his own mortal nature. His hidden side, on the other hand, revelled in such matters. Bathed in such moments. Even, or he’d say, often, exclaiming to the high heavens of such debauchery with included mischief.

He would admit it, to the both of them, maybe even if she’d ask, that he did want her. He knew it as well. He tasted the desire, the need, the wanton pressure from within his male soul. Crawling, embarrassing, wishing for him to actually let go of his sensibilities and to live. Even if it were for mere moments, he often wished to give in to the darker nature of man. He wouldn’t. He’d deny such notions with all of his energy, despite feeling his other side gaining more and more control upon each new day.

If he felt fear, loathing, anger or any emotion, the other side would start to dominate his thoughts, pushing him aside. Jekyll could think, analyse, assume, even create the wildest plan imaginable, but emotion still escaped and filled him with fear of what was to come. Despite the view in front of him, his mind moved towards the very moment when everything changed. He was a small boy, adventurous, vibrant, filled with the notion of a world filled with such stories of grandeur. Nothing could hurt him as he, within an imagination of innocence, could virtually fly as high as the world could take him.

He’d climbed the tree, that tree, the mighty tree within the back yard of his safe place. His Father, upon that day, had left the both of them, the words being spoken by a sobbing Mother that had fallen to her knees, in front of the tree. His world, shattered, his arms, weak, no longer holding him in place as he felt the world fade from his view. He fell, his instinct sending him cowering into the folded arms of supposed safety.

He heard his Mother gasp, exclaiming her terror, as his world snapped back into place. He looked up, to see his hand holding a branch. Saved. Amazed at the reflex, until the hidden character appeared within his mind, speaking insidious words, “Stupid boy! I will never permit you to hurt us!”

He remained silent about that day. His stoic mind coming to terms with his predicament, learning, evolving, creating a stable life despite the inner instability clouding his flat thinking. Jekyll would party, would have fun, if it were not for his real fear of his other side taking control.

“Do you like these?” she asked, moving forward to rest her ample cleavage onto the table. Jekyll snapped away from his daydreaming, returning to the present moment and his obvious surprise. He never knew that she could be so forward, from the various hours of conversation and mild flirting.

“My Dear, they are very, very presentable!”

“Come now Mr. Jekyll, you know what you’d really like to say! And do. Why don’t you let Mr. Hyde come out to play?”

Jekyll rested back into his chair, his mouth mildly open in shock, in wonder, pondering as to how she knew about his other side. It was, of course, idiotic of him to think that people wouldn’t eventually notice. He was calm, mellow, polite, a consummate gentleman, while Hyde was a braggart, a ruffian, the brawler, a voyeur, a ravisher and an absolute thirst filled playboy.

He felt his eyes lower to her neck, wishing that he himself, could simply allow his emotion to run rampant within his defined world. From his own emotion, his own thoughts. His eyes lowered still, taking in the view of her presented flesh, her womanly prowess doing what it was meant to do. He felt his mind shift, just a small amount, letting go of control to become the passenger in a vehicle that was about to speed so very, very fast.

If Jekyll were honest with himself, if he were to be true, despite a part of him being the way it was, he, himself, ashamedly, altruistically, also enjoyed the things that his other side did.

“Good Evening, my Dear! You have my full attention. Mr. Hyde is…, “ Hyde paused, looking immediately at her chest, pursing his lips, nodding, agreeing to the sight before him, as he returned his eyes to hers, “… now at your service!”

Jekyll took a seat within his own mind, watching, realising, that sometimes a man had to be two very, very, different entities to survive within their own little slice of the world. The yang to the ying, the brute to the gentleman, the very ‘Hyde’, to the ‘Jekyll’.

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