Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / Let Me Introduce Myself (Analysis)
LET ME INTRODUCE MYSELF
Personal Session One
It’s not Stockholm Syndrome. I’m not another Patty Hurst either. I never fell in love with my captor. I never lost that burning desire to gouge out his eyes and rip out his heart. Not for one minute.
When I got the chance, I did.
Three years of my life spent underground. Most of those days were spent by myself, in a small damp concrete room with no windows. If I were lucky.
Hours of torture, day after day, then going back to my dark cell. Not stopping until I was on the brink of death. Then weeks of nursing back to health.
I tried in the beginning to push for that final torture. Goading and provoking until he would gag me. The faster I came close to death meant the faster he would stop to nurse me back to health. He never pushed it to that final step…no matter how hard I tried to make him do so.
I finally learned that trying to make him angry only made him take his time and draw out whatever he had planned for that days entertainment.
Of course I enjoyed those brief interludes in between torture sessions. It was like a different personality would take over and the torturing bastard was gone for a little while. Don’t get me wrong, I still wanted to mangle him, even then. I never stopped waiting for that opportunity.
A soft bed, clean linens, plump pillows under my head, baths and clean clothes. His hands would be gentle and soft. He supplied drugs to help dull the pain.
He stitched, and he set broken bones. He put healing salve on burns, once he even put my intestines back in my body and sewed me right up. I watched the whole thing, senseless out of my mind. A particularly hard day of torture, that one.
It was the closest he ever came to losing control. Although he later claimed that he was in command of the situation the whole time. I suppose you could say it was true: I did live through it after all.
He was very methodical in his torture, and always took special care to provide a sterile environment while implementing new ways to make me scream.
He learned early on, to not risk losing his pet to infection.
We aren’t as easy to come by as one would think.
He was a Doctor, you see. So of course he had all the tools and knowledge he needed to bring me to the brink of death and back again and again.
I’m not sure where I should take my story from here. Should I tell you how he found me first? As a warning to all of you who think you could never be a victim.
Or should I start with the day he turned his back for one moment too long and I took his lousy ass down. I must have taken in part of his spirit for a moment, because what I did to him felt so good.
I still feel great thinking about it. Maybe part of his spirit stayed in me. Maybe that is why I am sitting in this hospital nut ward watching the man across from me (whom I call the Wanker) fondle himself through his house pants. Or how about Pervert Orderly watching me like a dog watches his owner eat a piece of rare meat.
He better watch his step around me. I’ve heard stories about what those orderlies do to women in these places. I’ll gut him like a fish if he ever shows up in my room at night.
You know what the really funny thing is? They don’t get why I don’t trust them. The doctors, that is.
Hello, one of your ‘brothers’ made me into a freaking Grims fairytale.
Not to mention a damn circus freak when I take off my clothes. Between the jagged scars and the places where my skin had been stripped from me, or burned away, I wouldn’t be looking to do a swimsuit add anytime soon.
Huh, maybe that’s what I should do, let Pervert Orderly get a look at the goods. The damaged goods that is. He’d stop eyeballing me then.
Of course then they would just sedate me and strap me down. They used to put me in the padded room until they figured out I didn’t mind it. I go mental when they strap me down. I can’t handle the helplessness.
I used to get strapped down often. Not for a while now though. I couldn’t help acting out. After all, here I am, the victim and they have taken away my freedom like a common criminal. Put me in a place full of nut bags, any one of which, by the way, could be just like Dr. Death. His real name was Dr. Evan Stone.
Sounds like a soap star right? Couldn’t be further from the truth. So, I insist on sticking with the name I gave him when I was his special pet.
The Doctors here say that is a sign that I have not put it behind me. I
haven’t moved on. Apparently this makes me a high risk for suicide or murder or something.
Kill someone one time and everyone treats you like you’re Lizzy freakin Borden. Deep, I know.
This brings me to the reason I am writing all this down. Evidently this
is supposed to help me come to grips with what happened.
Personally, I just think these sick assholes want to wank off to my misery. How is reliving all the morbid details of my living nightmare going to help me let go. Therapeutic, my scarred ass.
How is being stuck in a place where grown people regularly piss and shit themselves going to make me any damn better.
They say if I continue my writing they will move me to a ward where the patients can actually carry on conversations. I’m tired of looking at drooling mouths and dead eyes day after day. So for now I will be their puppet.
The last time I had a session with Dr. Brainchild (yes I’ve given them all nicknames) I crawled up on top of his desk and pissed on my file. Disgusting I know. It did however make a rather poetic statement. As well as earning me a full day and night in the straps. As much as I hate the straps…I’d almost do it again just to see the look of disgust and amazement on his face when piss splashed onto his expensive designer suit. Classic.
So all the Doctors had a little meeting and decided I needed to purge myself of all the horrible things I endured by writing my story. They are damn lucky I didn’t stand up and purge all over every one of them right then and there. Patronizing asses!
I would love to see any one of them endure One day of what I endured for years. They sure as shit wouldn’t want to be locked away and forced to not only talk about it: but write it all down as well.
The nurse is coming around with meds now. My favorite time of day. Got to give them that. Not stingy with the drugs. No Siree.
So, I think I’ll take a little break until my buzz kicks in. Maybe by then I will have decided where this twisted tale should go next…
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“It’s not Stockholm Syndrome… When I got the chance, I did.” I loved the beginning, very effective.
I enjoyed this. You do an excellent job with the character’s voice, there’s no trace of the writer at all. You also do a great job of letting us into her psyche. The language that you use is very effective. I could’nt find anything that I’d change. Although this does seem more like a horror story instead of mystery or thriller. I could see it as a thriller if you were writing it as is happened, but it’s all after the fact in her journal. There’s no mystery. We know who did it and that the main character gets out alive.
I’d read more.
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once he even put my intestines back in my body and sewed me right up.
Their is a few extra spaces between my and intestines.
After she speaks about the intestines being put back in her body, she says she watched it. How could she watch a man take the intestines out of her body, surely she would pass out from the pain.
of rare meat.
again an extra spacing
Not to mention a damn circus freak when I take off my clothes. Between the jagged scars and the places where my skin had been stripped from me, or burned away, I wouldn’t be looking to do a swimsuit add anytime soon.
Great description here, good job.
all, here I am
extra spacing (I won’t put it here again and waste your credits. You should probably just go through and you’ll find them)
Overall this is a great piece. You have unbelieavble good description and insight into this character, you make it very brutal and raw, well done.
This is an intersting piece, I would love to read more.
Thanks for sharing
Jodie
The story is a really interesting premise. I would like to see more mystery in the first chapter. For instance, don’t include as much detail as you have about the torture she endured. Then, slowly, you reveal each astonishing torture method that Ava had to endure. As it is now, the reader isn’t as involved as he could be because you tell him the torture she endured. If you hint at specific kinds, like talk about each scar, then the reader will try to guess what caused it, which will force him/her to become more involved.
Also, it would be interesting if Ava were writing to a specific doctor that is managing her therapy. It would make it much more personal and let her target her rantings directly at him. It would make the story more personal and create more of an opportunity for dialogue.
Overall, it’s a good start and interesting.
I love the voice of your character. It’s quite light and easy to read, yet it still has that darker undertone. And the humour, well I just love anything that makes me laugh.
could be just like Dr. Death. His real name was Dr. Evan Stone.
The way you’ve put his name on the end, feels like your adding his name so the readers know his name. I think you could add the information better and incorporate it into the plot. For instance(and this is just an example of how it can be encorporated into the plot):
I constantly looked at their name tags, praying the words weren’t ‘Dr. Evan Stone.’
The use of the word ‘pet’ is good. You get across how he was controlling her and he behaved like he owned her, just using that one word.
I love the lines where she is wondering how she should continue the story. Whether she should mention how they met or how she killed him. It’s a perfect little teaser of what is to come and it keeps the reader interested and wanting to read on.
Overall, I really like this piece. I like how the character comes across and I love the style of the piece. Sorry I haven’t given you much that I think you should change, the reason is because I really can’t think of much. It is a great piece.
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