Disclaimer – Don't own them, please don't sue. We beg of you, Pam has 6 bucks to her name, Ren is unable to even buy a phone.
Summary – Room number 1, the red room.
Special Thanks - Ren stands up Yes, I'd like to thank my mother, for without her horrible and viciously childish behavior, I would not have been driven to such a dark and demented new level of insanity.
Room 101 Mutilation
It's Red.
I hate the color red, coincidently enough though, it happens to be the one I see most. It's in the blood I spill, in the anger they say I contain. It's everywhere and in everything that ties into life and death. How I hate it.
What's that now? Oh I'm getting off topic, sorry. Right I was going to talk about the first room in my house of horrors. Alright then, if that's what you want to hear.
I think I stumbled upon this room when I was still a kid. I say stumbled upon, not invented. They say I invented them, they say it's all in my head and I can invent or uninvent them if I so choose. I say they're crazy.
Anyways back to the room, the red room. Why do I call it that? Well you're not very intelligent are you, are you sure you're really a Power Ranger? Hmm, well alright then, if you say so. Well to answer your question, I call it that because it's red. Wow, what a concept, right?
The room itself was possibly at one point white, I think most were except the concrete and brick ones, but we'll get to those later. This room though, yes I think at one point and time it was white, probably a very boring eggshell color white at that. However, now that it's become one of my rooms, it's been covered top to bottom in blood.
No, I know it's blood. Please don't give me that look, I know what it is alright. Paint doesn't smell or stick like that, not to mention the texture. Do you know blood has a very oily texture…alright alright, don't get snippy and impatient; I'm getting on with it already.
Anyway, so the red room, yeah it's red from blood. Not just normal blood either, it's more like a slaughter room. There's blood splashed on the walls, like someone was dragged over them with their back cut open. There's blood on the ceiling, no clue how that got there, but it never drips. That's the funny thing, it's wet, and I can see it's wet, but yet it never drips. No I don't think that means anything, it's just how it is.
So in this room, covered in blood, there's a boy. Yes a boy. Did I say a boy, than that's what there is, stop interrupting me. So as I was saying, this boy lives in this particular room. Most of my rooms do have inhabitants, I'm not sure why, I think at one point and time I might have known, but not anymore. Thinking's hard these days you know. They give me things that make my mind hazy and thoughts unclear.
What? Oh, right the boy. Well he's not really a boy, I guess, sort of a young man. He's very tall, and very muscular, and he at one point and time was probably very handsome too. He also has the most amazing eyes. Pools of oil is what they are. So dark and sad and…what?
No, he's not handsome anymore. Why? Well would you consider someone who's hanging from hooks, and torn wide open handsome? If so than perhaps you should be the one in this cozy white jacket instead of me.
The hooks though, oh those are bad. He's always hanging on them, I feel bad I can't get him down…well sometimes. See it's hard to explain, sometimes I sit on the floor and cry for him, even though he never cries or asks me to help him, I just feel so very bad for him. Wouldn't you?
Oh right, we're not talking about you, I forgot. Hmm? Oh, the other times? Well it's again hard to explain, but other times, the other times I laugh. I don't particularly know why, but I do. I think I prefer those times to the sad ones actually, though. It just strikes me as incredibly funny some days. Seeing him hanging there, large rusted meat hooks pushed through his body, pulling him apart, literally. See, even now when I'm not there, I can still find it funny.
He talks too, you know. Well not exactly to me, more like to the blood and the room. Still though he does talk. I think that's funny too, here is organs are barely being contained in his ripped apart shell and he's carrying on a conversation with the room. What's that? Oh he talks about lots of things. Some I don't understand, but others, others are sort of strange.
Well, let's see. Sometimes he talks about monsters. He says he wasn't strong enough to stop them. I don't know what that means, but I guess he's a bit delirious from the blood loss. Others though, others he says things that, well that make me feel strange. For example he apologizes a lot. I'm not sure what he's apologizing for. He says things like he's sorry he couldn't save us and how he hopes I'll be alright. He tells me he's sorry I'm alone too, but not to be scared because I'll never be really alone. Well duh, of course I won't that's what the rooms are for.
Other things? Like what? Hmm, no, he really doesn't say many other things that I can think of. At least not any that make sense. He does however…well perhaps I shouldn't go into that. No it's just personal. No one here seems to understand what personal means.
Sigh, fine. If you must know he, well he likes to see me do things. See I think it's all about the blood with him. He thrives on it, that's why he can hang like that and not scream, not because it doesn't hurt, but because he likes the pain and the blood. Which is why he likes to see me bleed.
Cut myself? Did I say cut myself? Um no, pay attention now. First off I don't have a knife, and second off I don't think he'd let me use one of his hooks. No I'm much more resourceful. How? Well I have teeth don't I? I have nails, right? That's really all it takes you know. A deep scratch here, and hard bite there, then just rip into the small wound and make it bigger.
Ah so refreshing, so fulfilling. You should try it sometime, as the blood flows, I swear, it's like you're not even there anymore.
To be continued…..