[FICTION] Trash

Officelover · 06-17-2012, 11:44 PM

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Hey all! A little something I wrote tonight for you all, sort of a welcome home gift to myself, hope you enjoy it. For those of you who don't know me I'm Officelover, I used to be a very active member here on getDare. I quit around 2 years ago and now I'm back. More information on my blog.

Part One: Arrival

Her eyes open, but nothing changes. It’s just as dark. She breathes in.
When plants are caught in absolute darkness, a substance in them called auxin stretches their stems out, until they die. That’s why when you leave a plant in a closet it turns a ghostly pale, warped and disfigured.
Our plant is stretching; she’s been in the dark for hours unknown. She slowly, progressively becomes more aware of her situation. She first realizes that it is dark; then she notices the cool feel of plastic against her exposed skin (that’s when she deduces her nudity); she then realizes that her hands are tied together behind her back. It is hard to breathe.
She panics. She screams, trying to fight what she realizes can only be a gag in her mouth. A perfect alarm – unintelligible but effective. She stops when she hears a door unlock, followed by calculated footsteps, increasing in volume. Finally, she lets out another scream, attempting to say ‘let me out of here!’ (It ended up more like “LEH MEE OW UH HEE!”) Light soon punctures the woman’s world. Dim, fluorescent light.
The man has untied something. Methodically, he widens a hole and births her hair in the great vaginal procession of the Trash Bag. That is, after all, what she soon understands it to be. It is a large, thick, industrial grade trash bag. Inescapable. She takes note of the bizarre scene, before choosing to scream or question. She notes the masked man in the suit, tall-ish and fairly fit. She notes the blank, mid-sized room, sculpted out of cinderblock, with a large pole running through it that she’s leaned up against, furnished with nothing but a chair, the table she’s perched on, and a small trash can next to the locked door.
There. Now she can scream. And, of course, as obvious and necessary as every other action in this story is, the man slaps her across her face.

06-17-2012, 11:44 PM	#1
Officelover Truth or Dare Enthusiast Join Date: May 2008 Location: New England Posts: 2,602 Blog Entries: 107	Trash Click here to comment on the original thread! Hey all! A little something I wrote tonight for you all, sort of a welcome home gift to myself, hope you enjoy it. For those of you who don't know me I'm Officelover, I used to be a very active member here on getDare. I quit around 2 years ago and now I'm back. More information on my blog. Part One: Arrival Her eyes open, but nothing changes. It’s just as dark. She breathes in. When plants are caught in absolute darkness, a substance in them called auxin stretches their stems out, until they die. That’s why when you leave a plant in a closet it turns a ghostly pale, warped and disfigured. Our plant is stretching; she’s been in the dark for hours unknown. She slowly, progressively becomes more aware of her situation. She first realizes that it is dark; then she notices the cool feel of plastic against her exposed skin (that’s when she deduces her nudity); she then realizes that her hands are tied together behind her back. It is hard to breathe. She panics. She screams, trying to fight what she realizes can only be a gag in her mouth. A perfect alarm – unintelligible but effective. She stops when she hears a door unlock, followed by calculated footsteps, increasing in volume. Finally, she lets out another scream, attempting to say ‘let me out of here!’ (It ended up more like “LEH MEE OW UH HEE!”) Light soon punctures the woman’s world. Dim, fluorescent light. The man has untied something. Methodically, he widens a hole and births her hair in the great vaginal procession of the Trash Bag. That is, after all, what she soon understands it to be. It is a large, thick, industrial grade trash bag. Inescapable. She takes note of the bizarre scene, before choosing to scream or question. She notes the masked man in the suit, tall-ish and fairly fit. She notes the blank, mid-sized room, sculpted out of cinderblock, with a large pole running through it that she’s leaned up against, furnished with nothing but a chair, the table she’s perched on, and a small trash can next to the locked door. There. Now she can scream. And, of course, as obvious and necessary as every other action in this story is, the man slaps her across her face. __________________ 20 Trans Femme Nonbinary Ass Collector Writes Poetry On Aluminum Foil with Gold Gel Pens Fills Mason Jar with Vodka I'm Doing A Cleanse White Kid with Black Nails Last edited by Leopard; 08-08-2012 at 06:22 AM.