The Surgeon’s Assistant
Her quick feet thudded through the empty corridor. The wind howling through the broken windows could not drown out the distinct clang of metal against metal behind her as he ran his scalpel across the cracked wall.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He bellowed, bursting into hysteric laughter.
“Please let me go!” She panted, her back against the wall.
He gestured with his smoking cigar and leisurely puffed the fumes in her direction, filling the hall with a breathtaking heaviness. Lightning set a ghastly light to his blood-stained scrubs.
“Well, I can’t really do that, now can I?” He mused, calmly taking in another haul while he toyed with the bloody scalpel in his other hand.
“The police suspects you anyway, even without my statement.”
“Hm.” He grunted, taking a step closer. His eyes were wild and enormous in his thick, round glasses. “Perhaps.”
“Stay away!” She cried. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear! Who would listen to one like me?”
He caressed his scalpel, slowly, lovingly. “It’s a shame, really. You were such a devoted assistant.”
She squinted around the corridor and grabbed a stretcher. With all her strength, she pushed the obstruction towards him and turned right as fast as her shaking body would allow.
He sniggered casually. “You’d think that after all this time, you would give up.”
“Never!” She retorted. “I will never stop trying to escape. I will be no part of this.”
At the end of the abandoned hall, a door loomed. It opened, bursting forth an invasive white light.
The poor girl sped up. She was almost there, stretching her arm towards the Light, when a sudden shadow blocked it from her grasp. The door fell shut.
“No, wait, please!” She cried, pounding the door with her fists until they bled.
She shrieked as the surgeon tossed her over her shoulder and carried her off with rough jerks.
“Do you honestly think I’d just let you go?” The Surgeon whispered in her ear triumphantly. He always enjoyed games he could easily win.
The girl rested her forehead against the cool door and sobbed. The Surgeon grabbed her and in one strong heave, he carried her off over his shoulder. She shrieked and clawed at him, but he just smirked. His heavy steps rung through the institution over her pleading voice, as he dragged her down the stairs, to the basement.
In a desperate gesture, she grabbed hold of the door frame, as firmly as she could and struggled to flee. “No!” She begged. “I don’t want to go back down there, please let me go! Let me go!”
One by one, her fingers slipped, leaving a crimson imprint, and she disappeared into the screaming darkness.
She could not get out. She could never get out. Not even after the thirty years she’d haunted the asylum, trying.
To come to this story, I used a creativity tool: Word Generator Plus (it’s very handy for writers, go ahead and check it out).
5 chosen words: corridor, filling, devoted, smoking, suspect
Normally, I keep this kind of story with the generator to 150 words, but it’s been a while, so I went overboard.
Because practice makes perfect, I’m going to try to write a couple of these this week.