"Therapy"
By Anne Hutchins
The young woman gazed intently at
the vid-screen...
--He groped around in the linty darkness. His hands
closed around the throat of a damp bag. Upturning it, he
watched wet crimson things tumble sponge-like to the
ground. The bloody vicera seemed to glow like neon.
She panted softly...
--He looked ‘round in the darkness, head turning
wildly from side to side. What to do next? Running his
sweaty fingers through his already damp hair, feeling the
blood pushing through his veins, he began to walk...
She touched a dial...
--A huge mouth opened in the darkness. Teeth, jagged and
blunt, awaited the taste of his flesh. That’s where
the things in the bag came from! his mind screamed...
She stabbed at a button...
--A long tongue extruded from the mouth...
She palmed another button...
--The tongue wrapped itself, serpent-like, about the man’s
waist and drew him into the gaping maw. His screams ended
with a dull, yet audible, crunch; a severed leg slid from
the monster’s closed lips...
The woman leaned back in her
leather swivel chair and sighed. The lights on the
console blinked happily. A young man materialized behind
her and touched her shoulder.
"Okay, it’s your turn to go in."
"You know, that marriage counselor is a genius."
"Yeah, just think, we haven’t had a single
fight or argument since beginning this therapy."
The woman smiled. "I know. I don’t hate you as
much as I used to." Then she rose, turned, and
marched into the machine.
The man rubbed his hands together slowly. "This
one’ll be even better," he whispered as he took
his place at the console.
THE END
Copyright © 2000 Anne Hutchins. All rights reserved.
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