Happy Holidays
Dead. Without life. Unmoving. Where once her heart sat, inside her chest, beating, processeing the blood that kept her alive, now sat on her nightstand beside her bed spilling those same juices into a puddle onto her almond white carpet. Her chest now an open cavern, steaming from the cold air from the open window to her bedroom. What did she she think about as she lay there, paralysed from the drug as the killer slowly cut her open. He had expert hands. So slow, so methodical very much like a surgeon. He so quiet, while she could hear the flesh being separated by the scalpel and the heavy beating of her own heart, and then the squsihing of meat, of a hand reaching inside the cavity of her chest and the tightness that came after, and finally at the final moment she saw it. Her own heart. He took out her heart and showed it to her before she passed. The stories of a heart still beating after being removed from your body were absolutly true. It moved, kind of like a frog taking a breath. And then it was over.
The killer took pains to keep the operation clean. He wore Dr's scrubs and prepared her room much like the hospital surgery. She could not see his face from the mask he wore and the work lights were so bright. He wore Ray Bans to protect his eyes, but she could seen them, squinting, concentrating. When he was done the clean up began. The heart was boxed in a tupperware container, then taken into the kitchen to be cleaned before the gift wrapping. The body was then methodically cleaned and sewn back together. The surgeon then wrapped it up in a form of mummification with her bedsheets. The final touch was the red ribbon he left in a bow and a card that read "Merry Christmas"
Comments
Loved it! Very descriptive- a fun read!