NEW story - Saw fantasy

Saw Fantasy

I wake up groggy, the tranquilizer slowly wearing off. I don't know where I am - it's dimly lit, and it smells like oil and old car parts. What the hell happened? I'm tied down somehow, I can barely move, but my arms seem to be free. I start trying to figure out what's going on, feeling around, and a big TV pops on in front of me.

The scary masked guy says that I shouldn't move, to stay right where I am. For some reason, I listen - I freeze and stare at the screen. He wears a freaky rubber mask, and his voice is deep with rough edges. He starts talking to me.

"Cathy, you have a choice to make right now, literally a life or death decision. Look at the clock below the screen. It is counting down from twenty minutes. At the end of that countdown, an explosive charge directly below you will detonate, and destroy everything in this room. There is a large metal door behind you, twenty feet away. One minute before the explosion, it will start to close. Nothing can stop it from closing once it starts, and nothing can open it again. to survive, you will have to make it through that door."

I begin to panic. What the fuck was going on?

"As you can see, you are locked to this platform. There is a key that can release you, attached to a chain that is within your reach. However, if you reach out to take it, a weight will be released from the ceiling above you, aimed directly at your back. It will sever your spine completely. It will paralyze you. You will then be able to unlock yourself and get through the door - though I warn you, that twenty feet will take you longer than you expect with a broken back."

I'm breathing heavy. This has to be some sick joke.

"By my calculations you have a little over eighteen minutes left. So you need to choose. You can live, spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair, or you can be killed when that clock reaches zero. I leave the decision to you."

I looked at the clock. It ticked to eighteen minutes as the sicko in the mask finished. The screen went black. I looked around, panicked. The room was some kind of storage room or workshop, though it looked unused. I spotted the brass key on the chain as promised, and slowly went to reach for it. As I expected, there is a metal wire connected to my wrists that pulls tight as I get about six inches from the key. The cable must lead to the trigger for the weight dangling precariously above me. I pull my hands back and think. I'm dripping with sweat.

Seventeen minutes. The red digital numbers count down with frightening speed. I scream, scream like I have never screamed before. I keep screaming and screaming until my throat is completely hoarse and I'm not making any sound. Nobody is coming.

Fifteen minutes. It has to be bullshit. This kind of thing doesn't happen, it must be some kind of sick prank, like a twisted reality TV show. But was it? I tried to think about what the hell happened, how I got here. I remembered the concert - it was a concert, right? Loud band, smoky... I had drinks. No, a drink. Someone gave me a drink. A beer? what happened then? I couldn't remember, all the memories jumbled in my head. Drugged? Was I drugged? Oh shit, was this fucking real??

Thirteen minutes. I have thirteen minutes to live. I can't stop the tears from coming, my vision is blurred by stinging tears mixed with sweat. I can't even brush the hairs out of my face.

Twelve minutes. I try reaching slowly for the key. Carefully reaching, trying to push the tied cable back on my arms. It's tight, I can't move it much. The cable tightens, I move another quarter inch. I hear a creak from above me, a metallic clicking noise. I freeze. My fingers are five inches from the key. Five fucking inches between life and death.

Eleven minutes. I don't have to die. If the wacko was telling the truth, I can just reach out and grab the key. And break my back. And live my life in a wheelchair. No more dance. No more cycling. No more sex. Assuming I could unlock myself and get through the door in time. Assuming the trauma of breaking my back didn't knock me unconscious. Assuming the masked wackjob was telling the truth and grabbing the key released me and didn't trigger the bomb early.

9:59 9:58 9:57

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I reach out my hands for the key and I hear it, I hear the metal 'click' and I think I can even hear the whir of the weight falling, falling through the air towards me. I grasp the key in both hands and close my eyes.

The impact hurts, hurts like I can't believe, but the worst part is where I don't hurt. My body just ends at my stomach. My upper back and breasts hurt, hurt like red fire, but that fire ends in a sinister line of 'nothing' I'm breathing heavy, breathing fast. Trying to move. The clock is still counting down.

9:00 I find the lock and fumble with the key, almost dropping it through my sweat-slicked fingers. It takes me three tries, but I get the key in and I hear the 'click' of my bonds opening. I shrug my shoulders and chains drop to the floor with a shrill clatter. I try pushing myself off the bench I've been chained to and I fall to the floor, my balance gone. I hit with a hard thud and feel my shoulder pop horribly, a new sharp pain shooting through me. I begin to try to crawl, and it's like the wacko said, it's hard, really hard, to drag my broken back and dead, limp, numb legs behind me across the floor.

7:00 FUCK! I'm screaming and trying to drag myself. I see the door now, it looks so fucking far away. I pull myself, fingers clawing into the concrete floor until they bleed. I move inch by inch. I can't see the clock any more. I'm driven by pure fear and rage and adrenaline, and I keep crawling.

I'm swearing, I'm panting, my shoulder is killing me, and I've only covered half the distance. How long has it been. I keep pulling. Keep crawling.

It's such an odd sensation, when I stop to think about it. My lower half is dead weight - I feel nothing at all, like I just end at my stomach. I don't look back, for fear of seeing me really like that, seeing my body end at my ribcage, my entrails and viscera dragging behind me in a crimson red trail.

I'm six or seven feet now. I can see beyond the door. How much longer?

I hear a new sound, a hum, and that huge door begins to close. It's slow, it will likely take the full minute to close completely, but I'm not through it yet. Not even close. I shriek and scream and I pull myself, pull my numb crippled body towards that giant door. There's a caterpillar screw at the top, slowly spinning. Caterpillar screw - I remember that name because I saw it in school once and thought it was funny.

School. I'll have to use a wheelchair at school. Fuck fuck fuck.

The door is more than half closed when I reach it, exhausted. I grab onto the edge to try and stop it, but it doesn't budge. It keeps closing with that slow, ponderous movement. I keep pulling myself through it, I'm exhausted, I'm in terrible pain. My hands are bloody from crawling across the rough cement. I've only got seconds to get through the door.

I don't make it. There isn't any pain, thankfully. I can't get through the door all the way, and the psycho in the mask was right - there was no way to stop it. I made it through to my knees when the door finally pinned me, prevented me from moving any more. So I watch. Watch the giant steel door slowly compress my legs, my knees, and then simply amputate them. I'm completely detached from the process, as I can't feel a thing, and suddenly I'm able to pull myself away from the door, my mangled stumps pulling away with a sick sound that makes me want to vomit.

Instead of that, I black out, just as I hear the loud concussive blast that likely liquefied everything in the room. Including my legs.

I wake up to blinding white light. I remember everything, every moment of the ordeal. I know I'm dead. I look around and see an angel, hovering beside me. no, not angel. A nurse. I'm not dead. fuck.

The doctor is dripping with faux compassion as he details my 'condition'. My back was completely severed along two thoracic vertebrae. I was completely paralyzed from my stomach down, zero chance of recovery thanks to all the moving I did to crawl out of the room. Sick bastard knew that. Legs amputated mid-thigh. I could see the bulky round bandaged 'things', the remainders of my long, healthy legs, under the light hospital sheets. And again - at least it didn't hurt. I assume that anyone else losing their legs in a steel door would probably be in a considerable amount of pain.

Police are there, of course, asking a million questions. My mom, freaking out, crying. I'm detached from it all. Like it's all happening to someone else. Like I didn't sneak out of the house to see a concert. Like I'll wake up and play soccer again and dance again and...

I'm sitting alone now, in a hospital waiting area, looking out the big windows. Sitting in a wheelchair. Not MY wheelchair - they said that would come in a week or so. I cant' feel anything below my belly button, and I have a wide Velcro belt around my waist, holding me in the wheelchair.

I look out the window, and all I can see is him. That freaky rubber mask. That hoarse voice. And for some reason, something deep in my brain glows red, and I smile...