kit and a flashlight. As she turned it on, the beige haired male opened the box and pulled out a small bottle and opening it as the scent of vodka filled my nostrils.
“ Drink this.” Knowing of the calming effects of the alcohol, I took the bottle from his hand and chugged the substance, some of it dripping onto my blood-stained cerulean polo shirt. Drops also landed on my ragged jeans as I gave the empty bottle back to the young man, who was now wearing white rubber gloves.
“ This will hurt. Do not move.” The tangerine haired female had just finished threading the needle as my heart rate increased, knowing what will happen next. The maroon-eyed man took the small sewing needle and his fingers began pinching the exposed meat together, painful moans escaping my lips as I tried my hardest to keep from fidgeting and kicking his palms away from the wound.
“ Be quiet.” Emerald orbs glared at my suffering form as the puncture of the needle sent a strange and uncomfortable feeling shoot throughout my nerves. The feeling continued for a few long minutes until I heard the snap of the rubber gloves the beige haired male had been wearing.
“ It’ s all over.” As I turned my head fully towards the ominous pair, the world around me soon became dark as the trunk slammed shut. My inability to move had me resort to screaming out for help. A long while after, my energy soon depleted to zero as my eyelids shut and my body began to finally rest.
I had woken up in my own home, on the couch that I was planning to replace. The window across from me showed no sign of sunlight, I suspect I was asleep for two or three hours. Sitting upward, I noticed I was in no pain. Unbuttoning the two buttons at the bottom of my new white polo, I pulled back to see only a light scar and butterfly stitches following it. My breaths quickened as I checked my phone. No one called, however there was a voicemail from an unknown number. I touched the play button and put the smartphone on speaker.
“ Hello, Miss‘ Chocolate Maker.’” At the sound of the voice, I immediately froze in fear. It was the voice of that man with deep red eyes. What scared me most is that he knew my occupation and possibly my address.
“ How ya feelin’? I hope I was able to help you feel so much better.” The mocking tone of his voice didn ' t sound like the way he did when he healed me. I kept listening closely.
Montage, May 2017 5