This is so so so not normal. Old and just not normal. xD Please don't judge me.
She awakes in chains.
The metal is cold and unyielding against her pale skin. But she is used to the cold, and so she doesn't notice. She doesn't open her eyes at first- she can sense that things aren't right. She is sitting in a chair, in a cold room, and she is tied down. She doesn't want to open her eyes because she knows something is very, very wrong. But eventually, curiosity wins out, and she snaps them open. Her back arches uncomfortably against the metal as she screams.
She is in a vast, desolate room, with no doors or windows in sight. It could be midday or midnight outside- wherever she is is so far removed from outside that it's not important. Just in front of her are two metal tubes on thin supports. Behind her is a wall mounted black box. There is nothing else.
She screams, but no one runs in. No one hears. Struggling against the thick tape pinning her wrists down, she cannot control the waves of panic overcoming her. She has no control. She thrashes, realising that her feet are bound as well and screaming even more. She tosses her head backwards and fowards, tears rolling freely as pure fear roars from her mouth. Tears run into her mouth, and she spits, shuddering. Her body jerks as she tries to take control of it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Stop crying. Stop feeling. She needs to shut off emotion, to work purely with logic. Shutting off emotion is something she can do.
A television, previously unseen, flickers on suddenly. She jumps, afraid of what's about to play out. A puppet flashes on screen. A strange looking puppet- not the kind of thing you would give to a child. More of a ventrilquists doll, a horror prop. It turns its head slowly towards the screen, and begins to speak. The words it says make no sense.
"Hello, Elisa." It rasps, in a deep gravelly tone that sends shivers down her spine. "You are slowly killing yourself, without caring who or what you affect. As if this wasn't bad enough, you teach other young girls how to do the exact same thing online. Why don't you eat, Elisa? Is it for punishment? For control? Well, here you are- I'm giving you all the control you need. The chair you are sitting in is filled of spikes- if you fail to free yourself in 60 seconds, they will snap out and impale you. Or, if you choose, you can push your arms through the tubes in front of you. They are filled with razorblades, and will reduce your limbs to the skin and bones you wished they were. Hit the buttons at the end of the tubes and your shackles will be withdrawn. Live, or die. The choice is yours."
The video shuts off as quickly as it came on, and for a few seconds she stays frozen in place. Paralysed with fear, too terrified to move. But then, slowly, she becomes aware of the sensation of several small bumps against her spine. There are lots, and she realises with a sickening jolt that these are the spikes- waiting to kill her. She screams again, knowing it's pointless even as she does so. She struggles with newfound passion, and suddenly her right arm breaks through the tape holding it down. With one arm free, she soon rips the tape off of the other one. But the second she has full control of her arms, she hears a soft 'clunk'. She looks around, and sees that the box has lit up. 60:00. 59:00. 58:00. It counts down, and she snaps her head back around to the tubes. She cannot believe that this is real, that this is happening to her.
The room is silent except for her sobs, as she gingerly places her hands against the ends of the tubes. She can't see what's inside of them, and she's glad. She looks around at the clock, hesitating. 45:00. She's had a quarter of her time already. She bites her lip, closes her eyes, and thrusts her pale arms forwards.
She screams, again and again, over and over. She is going to be sick, to pass out from the pain. She cannot cope. It feels like somebody is peeling her- the skin and flesh and fat are falling off and she can feel them squished up against her. She can feel the hot blood washing over her newly mangled flesh. But it's not enough. She's feeling around with her fingers and she can't feel anything except more blades. She twists her head around. 30:00. Half of her time is gone. She pushes her arms in further. She has given up screaming words and just begun roaring with pure emotion. But she still feels only blades, and suddenly she doesn't care what happens. She knows for a fact that she is going to die here, in this dingy room, in this torture chamber. She doesn't care what happens anymore. Her life is as good as over already.
Live, or die. The choice is yours. That had been the puppet's words. She had chosen death- she had chosen death the first time she had said "I'm not hungry". She had chosen death with every meal she skipped, with every lie she told, with every pound she dropped. Every heart she broke. Death was a possibility she had had to accept. But not like this. Never like this. This was not how it was supposed to be.
25:00. 20:00. 15:00. She can't die like this. She can't die, full stop. Death seemed okay when it was a long way away. Even 'a few months' was a long way away. 15 seconds is not. 15 seconds is now. She cant die now! She has to act- now.
With a roar, she slams her hands forwards and feels the knives slice her flesh off neatly. Her vision goes black, and she has to fight to even stay conscious. She focuses on the burning, white hot pain to keep her awake as she fumbles for a button. Please, a button, she begs. And then there it is under her fingers, the smooth plastic casing, the best thing she's ever felt. She jabs at it, and pushes her other hand further in to find that one. 10:00. 9:00. 8:00.
7:00. 6:00. With the timer counting down, she finds the second button and nearly cries with relief as she pounds it desperately. 5:00. The tubes click open, revealing the horror that she will now have to live with for the rest of her life. 4:00. 3:00. She stares at her mutilated fingers and hands and wrists and arms for a second, before her ankle bindings fall open. She stands up as the timer hits 00:00. She hears the metal spikes slam fowards as her head swims, and she stumbles forwards onto her hands and knees. She screams with more pain, because her arms cannot catch her after such a fall anymore, or ever again. She lays her head in her lap. She is cold with burning pain. She will never again catch a ball, pick up a fork, hold a glass, write. She is mangled, broken.
But she has made her decision. She is alive.