Custom
By Matt — Featuring: Shrunken Man, Abstract, Dreamlike
Breathing is such painful work, it occurred to him as he tried to keep his head still. The adhesive was surprisingly strong, pulled hard enough to tear skin. His neck hurt, but he had mostly forgotten that discomfort.
He felt fevered. His body had soaked up the heat pressed against it like a sponge. The world moved rapidly around him. He felt the sick dizziness erupt into his head and neck, lingering… and then fading back into maddening itches and sweats.
He took another labored breath and opened his eyes, fixed upward by his bonds. The sight didn’t inspire much. It had, once. Perspective is a many faceted beast.
He could hear words directed at him. They filled his ears, but he couldn’t make them out. There was only each constrained breath, heat and sickening motion.
When his head was unbound, it took skin, even gently done. For a torturously blissful interval, he felt the pressure on his chest release and he breathed deeply and easily. Then it returned, and with it the feverish heat wrapped more intensely about him. The world seemed to collapse underneath him and he felt he may retch, but it struggled for purchase amongst other discomforts and pains.
Deep noise beat at his ears. He struggled to push his arms, pressing painfully into his sides. Eyes full of spiteful amusement passed by. A hole opened up…and then damp, suffocating black.
He fell into a restless nightmare full of the low songs of beasts. It was dark and the air was thick. When he woke, the pressure against his chest closed in. He could feel cool air against his face. Sticky moisture made opening his eyes difficult.
Someone was talking again. He couldn’t tell if it was meant for him. He was tired. His forehead hurt where the glue had torn away. He wanted to wipe the stickiness away from his eyes, but he couldn’t move his arms.
His equilibrium wouldn’t settle. The dizziness came and went. He felt a falling sensation in his stomach and then heat and a soft press closed in around him. He opened his eyes and it was dark. His ears were filled with a pulsing, rushing sound.
He tried to remember the start. For some reason, his thoughts anchored on the Cronenberg film Videodrome.
Walls closing in. Pressing out the air. Was this another dream? He thought his eyes were open, but he couldn’t get his hands to them to check.
There was an email and a purchase. Some things retain an intense attraction when limited to disconnected imaginings, but that third dimension just won’t stop calling. He had debated with himself a long time. He had researched. He had found the right agent to bring it all together and when the checks cleared and the days cleared with his job, he had taken a plane and left all the misgiving at the gate.
Some things his imagination couldn’t account for.
Heat and noise. If only his petty dreams had shown him the truth of it all. It all came down to heat and noise.
His eyes were filled with a vista of desires grown monstrous and frightful. He had passed through mere terror to a kind of half-aware endurance.
A lens pointed toward him. Cronenberg. The lost hero, drowning in fantasia.
He dreamed. He woke. The air squeezed out of his lungs, and he looked up and saw it all in front of him. This is what he’d paid for. He felt a strange terror, laced with fascination and muted arousal. Everything moved forward. Soft and wet and threatening.
Should he close his eyes?
He remembered that he had spent so much time writing it all out. He formed it like a movie screenplay. It was so long and tedious. He was embarrassed when he sent it.
He wondered if it had all played out like he wrote it?
The heat was shocking when it came. Later, the darkness and sound. It was so animal!
Nostrils filled with slick, sticky stuff. It actually felt familiar. Comforting, after a while.
He tried to remember how much he had paid, but it didn’t matter.
Now he knew.
****************************************************************************
“Been busy today?” She stroked the skin on the inside of her thigh and focused on the slight weight she felt further inside.
“I had a custom.” She laughed. “You should have seen the script this guy sent me!” “Another Scorcese?”
“No doubt. I’ll have to give it to the dude, though. He went all the way with it. Never backed out.”
“Did he get his happy ending, then?” Laughter.
She slid her fingers inside. What they touched wasn’t moving.
“As ordered!”
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