Creative Writing

Creative writing comp runner up


By Laura Cashman

Everything was too lifeless and too clean. The only sound was the eerie ticking of a clock hung crookedly on the wall. Sweat had started to break across my forehead exactly five minutes prior. Admittedly, this was my fault. If I’d only followed the instructions I’d been given, I would never have found myself here.

The room itself was not helping my state. A particularly terrible patterned wallpaper had been used in an attempt to give the room a new life. But it hadn’t worked. Nothing would work in this godforsaken place. Even the dust motes were absent. I glanced at the white tiled floors and chuckled darkly to myself. Most likely it had been installed to make cleaning up the blood easier.

I shuddered violently.

My only chance was an escape attempt. The windows weren’t an option. The room itself was five stories up and a fall would most likely prove equally fatal. As for the door, it was too much of a risk. I trembled to think about the consequences of being caught.

Shifting frantically in the chair, I examined the roof for any signs of a manhole. I remembered seeing that in a movie. James Bond or Jason Bourne or someone like that. If only I could scale the bench to my left and pop the ceiling tile…

“Don’t forget the drill,” came the echo of a cold voice from the hallway.

I froze.

My bones were audibly shaking as a shiver ran down my spine. This was it. I stood, as if somehow my refusal to cooperate would hinder them.

“And I’ll need a new wrench” said the voice from outside the door again, “I ruined the previous one on that last brute I laid into”.

Laid into? Oh, this was bad. This was very very bad. If only I’d known…

The door handle started to twist. I panicked. Grabbing the closest thing to me, a silver probe, I held it up in defence.

There was a click as the door swung open to reveal the silver eyed man.

“What are you doing?” he nearly growled, eyeing the silver probe in my right hand.

“I…I…I don’t want this to happen” I stuttered, trying to make my words sound bold and confident, “If you let me go, I’ll do better. I’ll take more care. I promise. Just please don’t do this”.

A menacing grin crossed his face as he yanked the probe from my grasp and shoved me into the chair.

“I warned you last time that this would happen if you didn’t follow my instructions. Yet here we are, and you’ve left me with no choice,” he murmured.

“But… it doesn’t have to be this way…”

“It really does…”

“Why are you doing this?” I interrupted.

“I’m a dentist, Mr Larkin. It’s my job.”

Image: Florian Klauer

Leave a Reply

%d bloggers like this: