I try desperately to remember the moments before. What was the last thing I said? My fingers play along crusty scarred metal weaving rusted crosses through my lips.
What’s that smell? Rubbing alcohol?
Yes, that was it. I could see then from craters that now adorn my pearlescent face. There were bright lights and wood paneled walls exposing my naked body against industrial noises of sweat shops and steel grinding bone.
It’s my time, voices rise in a cacophony of laughter mixed with fraught jeers and gasps. Chains hoist my arms high, limbs of wood direct my legs, a crime of perversion set against Chopin. Stitched together like a human rag doll, a pirouetted puppet without pause.