the root of all ....

It had been a full week he'd been taking her maximum dose.  Despite his body being flushed with the drug, Vinny had kept his hidden corruption. 
He endured the dull throbbing agonies and the searing pain she had promised him.
Vinny had been determined, until now, never to give it up to Frieda,  it was too valuable to lose the very thing that allowed him to encase it. It was part of his identity, it made him complete, he couldn't bear thinking of living without it.  He knew if he allowed her to get it from him, every day he would feel the gap it would leave. 
But, as he considered living through more days with the ever-increasing agonies, he knew that Frieda had won.  He had already suffered too much and she had promised him the fierce tortures would be his until he relented.  Now he was again reluctantly led to her lair to be laid out once more under her control.
Frieda as always  remained  detached from her victims but never failed to be delighted by practicing her craft to perfection.  She smiled smugly down at the face now staring nervously up at her.
She'd hoped this one would be lain here again for some further ministrations of her skills. There was so much more she could now do to him.  He was such a sensitive victim, scared beyond measure of the pain.  It was good therefore that she knew just where to attack for the best result.

Vinny lay helpless on her alter, mortified and becoming immobile.   A syringe, half emptied of it's load was balanced in her hand, it's pointed shaft already slightly smeared with his blood.  His head, braced as it was, meant all he could see were her ice-blue eyes watching him coldly from her mask.

Her domain was designed with meticulous method.   The instruments of her torture were stacked and racked, laid out to intimidate and for tauntingly easy access. Tools were there to pierce flesh, to grip, constrict and tear.  All displayed to instil a terrible fear in even the most bold. Central in her den was the workbench upon which Vinny found himself supine. Just by itself this visually grotesque piece of furniture bought dread to any occupant. Those who found themselves here knew many before them had suffered on this altar of fear and pain, and many would follow.

On a given day, Frieda's targets for torture would be brought to her lair and exposed to the horror of it's contents.  Each would be tortured in varying degree depending on their level of corruption.  As her door was opened for them the apparatus on which they were to be laid was boldly presented in the centre of her den.  It would threaten them simply by it's design and form. Immediately apparent were it's lights, electric weapons, the ominous tubes, clubs, tools, hoses and pipes. Attachments were arrayed for the binding, grinding , flushing, inserting and suctioning of things best not contemplated.
 
Vinny lay with his fear and searing pain, enduring the residual agonies that Frieda had coolly told him would be returned on him, relentlessly, unless he agreed to her wishes.  She had only ever wanted him to give up his treasured possession, and now he was here, for what he thought would be the last time, and she was going to break his face to drag it from him.

He looked across and could see she had set out before her the weapons she would use on him for torture and his sensory defeat. Spikes and band vices, wheels with teeth, probes and rods with points and grooves. Pliers and forceps.  He was powerless to prevent the inevitable. Her tools lay in obvious threat, ready to pierce, compress and to pull relentlessly so as to extract from Vinny the demon he had contained for months.

In a way he had already relented, just by being here he had provided Frieda the upper hand. It was from a sense of the inevitable that he had fought against her up until today. Fought through his doubts, fought through his fear, but finally he accepted he would have to surrender to his nemesis.

'So, Vinny,' Frieda said cloyingly, a sickening calmness. She looked down on him in triumph. 'Let me explain, in detail, vhat I am going to do to get this out of you'
'Omnmphff ' Vinny dribbled, his face not able to respond as the drug took rapid effect. His terror heightened.
'Today, I am not going to take your looks from you.' Her eyes were sparkling with glee, her thick Scandinavian accent smoothing the words.
Vinny looked at her, not comprehending, it was not a sentence he had expected.
'Vhat I am going to do is dig at your nerve.'
This was worse.
'You see,' she continued from behind her mask, 'It is going to dead you.,.   No.,.   I mean, it is dead to you'
Vinny tried to get his stressed-out mind to comprehend what she was saying. He knew he must keep aware.
' Ay bontd undafand.' Vinny mouthed
'What don't you understand?' Frieda stared, her eyes wider now, somehow surprised he would question. Then suddenly a hint of soft expression in the icy stare, she glanced at a chart.  'Oh, I'm so sorry, let me explain,' She condescended. 'I looked at the x-ray again and think it possible to can save the tooth.  But it requires scraping works to root canal. I thought receptionist has told this to you when she take the booking for you?'
'Yogody shed anifing oo e'
'Nobody said anything to you?'
Vinny was amazed how dentists could understand, perhaps they took Novocaine language courses as part of their training.
'Again, I sorry.' Frieda said and leaning back she lowered her face mask. She was pretty for a dentist and Vinny, attempting his most winning smile, gurned up at her.
'Oh, good.' she smiled back,  'You must be fully numb now.  Tell me if you feel this?' She enquired as she re-raised her mask and deftly picked up a vicious probe to stick into his gum.

little things are complicated

(This story was again a result of automatic writing, that's when I have no idea what to write on a subject and just start writing something. The topic this time from the Leeds Savages was 'free for all' or whatever you want. I like the story but probably need to smooth the edges a bit, this is a first draft.)

LITTLE THINGS

Alan pushed his nose against the cold glass and exhaled.  His breath formed two dewy patches on the school bus window. Pulling back, he watched as they slowly evaporated  leaving just the smudge mark where his nose had been.  The driver looked across and smiled, saying "Nearly there now Alan.  Its still a bit cold out, but look,  you'll have a lovely sunny spell to walk to your house today".
Alan glanced out past his nose print at the fields passing by and saw the stone walls and barns were casting crisp shadows in the afternoon sunlight.  The trees and hedges along the roadside had started to brighten with fresh leaves flapping slowly in the crisp spring breeze.  Small piles of windblown late snow remained at the foot of the stone walls and it white-filled the grassy hollows shaded from the sunlight.
Alan lived at the last stop on the school bus route and for the last five minutes of the trip he was always the only one on the bus.  The driver, Mr Rahmer, usually talked about the weather during this time. He also usually talked about Leeds United at least once. 

This term Mr Rahmer had also taken to asking Alan about his day at school and to waiting and watching Alan get off the bus and walk all the way up the lane to his house.  When Alan reached his front gate he'd look back. Mr Rahmer would wave and turn the bus to head up along the lane to the depot.  Alan thought Mr Rahmer was a nice man.   Alan's mother had asked Mr Rahmer to make sure Alan got home okay through the winter term because she was going to be working afternoons for a while.

This afternoon as he got off the bus Alan noticed Helen was standing by her front gate. He started to get nervous because he'd have to talk with her again.  She was wearing a pink puffer coat with white fur around the hood.  The fur framed her face but let a few strands of hair escape to drift across her cheek and chin.
She was very nice. 
Helen was doing the same lessons as Alan but at a different school , one just for girls, and she was always home earlier than Alan.  Her family had moved into the big house a few months ago and Helen's mother drove her to and  from her school in a big silver car with soft leather seats.

'Hello Alan.' Was all she'd said as he approached.  Alan cringed inside. Helen always had nice things and she was often out playing in her Wendy house.  Alan lived in the first of the terraced houses behind the big house, right next door to her yard.  Because she lived in the big house he always worried when he met her that she would be more clever and he might say something silly.
'Hello' he replied, hugging himself against the cold wind that cut through his school coat.
'Did you get told today that our schools were going to join up for a sports day?' Helen seemed quite excited.
'No, we didn't get told that. Where?'  Alan looked down the lane to see if Mr Rahmer was still waiting, he was. Alan waved at him and Mr Rahmer waved, after a moment he drove the bus away.  Alan knew he would be asked about Helen on the bus tomorrow afternoon.
'Its going to be at your school because there will only be thirty of us and there are too many from your school to come to ours.' Helen had a way of delivering a stream of facts with great authority that made Alan feel small.
'Oh.'  He couldn't think of anything else to say as he stared at her.  She looked nice.  Nicer than the girls at his school. And she didn't make fun of him.
'Do you do any sport, will you be going, do you think?'  Helen hoped he would be going.  She wanted to make friends with this gentle boy. He was not cruel or rude like the boys in Harrogate.
'I run and I swim okay. I suppose.  I guess my teacher will tell us if we are going.' Alan was getting nervous again,
'I run too. We should race each other to see who is fastest!'
'Yeah.'  This was frightening now, Alan didn't know what to do
'Do you want to run now?'
'Um, I can't. I have to go home 'cos Mum always phones to check I'm home.' Alan lied.
'Oh, could you come out if she says its okay?'
'I suppose so, but I have to go now.' Alan wanted to show how fast he could run but didn't know if she would be upset when he beat her. He decided he would ask his mum when she came home.

Alan stepped back onto the path and walked to his front door. Helen stood and waved once as he opened the latch and went inside.  He closed the door, dropped his school bag beside the stairs and went up to his room.  He peered out of the window and watched Helen going from the gate back to her playhouse.  She didn't look as happy as she had been when she was talking to him and he wondered why. She had a bike and a trampoline and lots of things in her yard and he would love to try them.

Helen was disappointed Alan didn't seem to want to play with her.  Perhaps he was just shy. It wasn't much fun playing in the yard by herself but from the porch of the Wendy house she could see if Alan came out again.

Alan sat looking down at Helen and was feeling guilty that he'd lied.  He could go back, he supposed, and they could run the length of her yard to see who was fastest. She was only sitting in front of her playhouse moving things around and looking out at the lane every now and then.  He wondered if she was waiting for him. 

The window started to fog in two dewy patches from his breath and as he moved to wipe it he saw his Mum standing at the entrance to the lane way. She was back early, mustn't have been given any extra hours work today.  That usually made her a bit sad but today she was smiling and talking with someone around the corner that Alan couldn't see.  His mum laughed and lent forward to push at the someone.  Then  an arm went around her waist and she stepped back a little as a man came into view and ran his hand through her hair, laughing and planting a kiss right on her lips. 

It was Mr Rahmer. 
Alan's head smacked against the window making a bang loud enough for Helen to glance up and see him pulling a horrible face at her.
She didn't know Alan had been there watching her all this time. 
She'd got it wrong, he wasn't a nice boy.
She got up to go inside, not looking at him again.

Alan didn't know what to think, his Mum and Mr Rahmer. 
Why hadn't she told him? 
What was he to do now that he'd seen that?  She'd be walking through the front door any minute.

Life gets so complicated when you turn nine years old.