A new take on how to describe surgery.


Mason Lecroix felt as if he was floating on a pillow of clouds.  Catherine stood over him, wiping the blood from his mouth.  Even in his dream, he knew he had done more damage to himself than he did the thugs.  With every ragged breath, he felt pieces of his ribs shifting dangerously closer to his organs.  He turned to face her, to tell her, but saw only a shadowy face with red eyes leering back at him. 


Where before it had been her hands wiping away the blood, now he saw only black claws tearing at his flesh.  Shreds of washcloth clung precariously on curved talons.  Even her voice seemed off.  Her normally soft, caring tone, that could drive back the foulest of his demons, replaced with a banshee’s wail. 


Were it his actions that released this sinister demon?  Was it because he’d released the rage stored within?  He tried to scream, but found his cries drowned out by its inhuman laugh.  The more he tried to fight it, the deeper long, claw shaped talons dug into his flesh. Violently he thrashed from sided-to-side, crying out for Catherine to save him. 


She was his savior, and tormentor, in one.  The more he tried to escape, the stronger the demon’s hands became, until soon the two became six then eight.  Each time he struggled, a new black taloned hand reached from the blackness to hold him tight once more.  He could feel the claws ripping the flesh from his burning bones.  All the while, strange voices buzzed in his head, their words jumbled and foreign. 


He didn’t need to understand what they said.  Their hungry eyes leering at him from all directions made their appetite known.  They craved his soul.  With jaws clenched in determination, he fought against their foul hunger.    


He was determined to win at any cost.  Delving deep within himself, he called to his rage.  The one thing that could hope to match the evil crashing down upon him.  Without warning, a burning light filled his vision.  Demon arms howled in pain at its mere presence.  Seeing his chance, he tore himself free from their grasp.  Black talon covered arms struggled to reach him, as they slowly sank into the abyss from which they’d come.


Soon, the voices faded with the arms, until only a single soothing voice remained.  She had come.  The angel.  His love.  Catherine stood over him, covered in a glistening white gown.  With her, came the warm glow of her love.  A new peace comforted his tortured mind. 


Her mere touch closed his wounds, with a gentleness he thought impossible.  The pain fled with her every caress.  They were together again.  He never wanted the moment to end.  When it did, he would be alone again.  Alone, without the one person he ever truly needed. 


Published by gunfighterfiction

Veteran and all around good ole cowboy

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