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Flash Fiction. Locked In Part 3 of 3

Flash Fiction. Locked In Part 3 of 3

Then, somewhat ironically on Friday the thirteenth, someone turned up. Not just someone, but someone really special. Once more, I started to feel important, and felt my luck had reached a turning point. He was a tall, well-bred man in his late forties, very handsome with a Roman nose and grey temples, impeccably dressed in a dark blue Saville Row suit, the sort of person you would trust completely. The type of man with whom I would love to have a relationship and even breed children, even though normally such people would avoid me like the plague, all because of my useless loser parents. Apparently he was a very famous neurosurgeon and a knight of the realm, to boot.

“Miss Anne Thrope?”

His voice was like velvet, imagine, for example, silk sheets being laid out reverently on a bed. He moved his head close to my face. I almost thought he was about to kiss me. Then a broad smile crossed his benign face, revealing his gleaming white teeth and sweet breath. Although I could not move or communicate, I’m sure that I shivered in anticipation and excitement. Here was a true gentleman, and no mistake, and I was the rapt focus of his attention. I might have swooned, were I capable, and the drip-feed and the catheter tube with its rich yellow liquid, might not prove conducive to romance. He could have taken me there and then, hard and fast, and I would have felt my life complete.

He started to whisper in my ear.

“I’m going to perform some special surgery on you. You’re such a fascinating case, my dear. And I think you can do something amazing for me.”

I was now beginning to feel very excited. What was going on? I was fascinated and intrigued in equal measure; after all, this was about me, and me only.

“Do you know,” he continued, “I love being a neurosurgeon, and I wonder if you can even fathom the best thing about it?”

I assumed he meant the fame and the money, saving peoples lives and all the other reasons people go into medical practice. It’s not that I was in the position to answer him back or discuss the matter, so I had no alternative but to allow him to continue.

“If I wasn’t able to slice open people’s heads and poke around with their brains legitimately, I’d have to find another way to satisfy my urges. I only feel alive when I have a bone saw in my hand, cutting and slicing, seeing the blood flow. That really puts me in the zone; it’s better than sex, drugs, alcohol or anything else that mundane people think they enjoy. Sometimes someone accidentally dies on the operating tale. Now, that really adds a fillip to the day. I wonder what will happen next? Normally, I have to use anaesthetic, but evidently, in your condition, you won’t be requiring it. My team is ready and we operate in fifteen minutes time. I’ll soon find out what’s happening in that pretty little head of yours.”

He gave me a wink as he moved back from me, the smile widening on his face. A genuine smile, one of sheer pleasure, even the wrinkles around his deep blue eyes moved in synchronisation. What they call a Duchene smile, the sort of thing I could never manage, as it would be beneath me to play to the expectations of the masses. He would be taking his pleasure with me, like no other man that I had known in my entire life. I had no choice, no option but to go along with what he was intending to do. And despite all that was about to befall me, only one thought kept turning itself over in my mind. You know, all of you out there, that the best thing about all of this is that I’m unique. I’m totally better than anyone of you reading this.

Unlike all of you, I’m no longer a mediocrity.

(This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

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