George

“George,” the whisper shattered the silence into thousands of piercing shards of glass, stabbing his ears. “Wake up.” He tried to lift his head, but it only seemed to weave from side to side. “Morning,” the man sounded extremely pleased. “You are here, because I understand you are a very… un-likeable person.”

Blackness was replaced with a horridly bright light. He had thought his eyes were closed, but apparently he wore a bag over his head untill the man tore it off. The room was painfully bare with only a door, the chair he was tied to, and two people. He tried to speak, but it came out a gagged, unintelligible, noise. “Shush, we can’t have you alerting anyone.” He must have been drugged. That was the only explanation as to why he seemed so out of it.

“Don’t worry, I won’t feel a thing. It will all be over with quickly.” His mind was too muddled to comprehend why the words didn’t sound right. “Its time for you to die,” the words were followed by a syringe plunging into his neck.

Reviews

[Holly Marsh]

EW! Sorry. Needle phobia. Ooh- this was so delightfully creepy! Since the point of view is coming from George himself, I think it might help for the "syringe killers" to possibly take the bag off his head- or maybe explain that the bag is slightly transparent enough to see where he is. :)