Water splashed on to my face. Ice cold water. A lump formed in my throat. My feet went cold. There I was pinned down; waiting to be consumed in the wrath I had willingly walked into. The sound of footsteps stopped.
My feet pushed against the rods under it, clutching it frantically to numb the pain…but to no avail. Hands trying to cover my face from the fury. Every hair parallel to every other and vertical.
Eyes smarting with pain, I try to distract myself. This can’t go on forever, it will pass…
Think of your happiest moment…I try to think of my little niece, the innocent and cherubic angel I loved so dearly, whom I would have gotten to hold and play with, had I just used my sense of judgement …but in the next second the electric neural pulses of dismemberment brought me back to reality…
The Torturer drops the device; I inhale hard and revel in those moments of glory. The pain is passé as long as it was over.
Device retrieved. Pressed against me skin, I grit my teeth and flail out my palms. Open. Close. Open. Close. A fish hooked to the bait. Grasping for life.
I am moving my legs, flapping them wildly. Open. Close. Open. Close. A duck trying to swim after getting trapped in an oil slick.
Never again will I repeat this. Never will I even think about it. Never will I give in to that temptation, hoping that it would in some way superficially better my life.
That will be 15 Rs Ma’am. I throw it at her and rise from the chair. I am never doing my eyebrows again!
And the hair grows back. And the cycle continues…only to be very sporadic owing to the writer’s morbid fear of the device: a reel of thread.
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