The Next Room

I grip my knife; the blood is yellow. How long have I been dead for? The edge of the blade feels of flesh and blood. I check my body, no bruises or cuts. Who am I? Did I turn into the thing that killed me? Am I a

meatcutter at Publix or something? Was I the meat to be carved? I had to think fast. Somebody could show up at any time. I got down off the table and immediately realized my legs were in no condition for walking, or even standing, for that matter. I heard voices in the next room.

The voices were muffled, but animated. At one stage I heard laughter. ‘They’re enjoying this’. I could feel my insides smoulder and bubble. I pulled hard on the restraints to no avail. The more I struggled, the tighter they became.

And the less I struggle, the looser they must become! I’ve got it! I stopped resisting. Nothing. I was still stuck in my tight restraints. The voices discussed what they were going to do with my body, and I had the displeasure of hearing every detail of it. Every. Single. Detail.

It disgusted me to the very core. They grunted and laughed like a pack of uncivilised wild animals. How could they do what they do without so much as a second thought, so much as a single shred of conscience? I was about to be stripped of my dignity in this compromising position.

"You monsters!" I cried. "Won't someone help me out of this?" From the cackling masses jutted a single hand, strong & calloused, which hauled me up & set me on my feet again. My tear-filled eyes rose to see the one who had saved me. It was none other than R&B singer Toni Braxton.