#crackedgrin

     “  you  sure  ya  wanna  sit  there?  ”     a  question  or  a  challenge  who  knows  with  her.     eyebrows  arched  upwards  towards  the  unfamiliar  male       (  harleen  kept  to  herself  in  this  loonbox,  faces  constantly  changed,  so  names  weren’t  worth  remembering.  )

Inspirit Bewilderment: Accepting]

    Pleasurable introspection incites a wistful simper.                                  ‘How?’ Over years, Jonathan hones unethical practices.

    Fingers wring across one another, flowing away to the shape each gaunt length, separating to a hover. A rattle echoes, calling out to him, beckoning watchful eyes. There is a spasm of undernourished limbs, a bodily reaction, heels dancing across flooring.

   Heels tint with red, tinting the floors with an attractive hue. Lungs empty of beseeching cry ache. Screams fill the cell once again as a syringe is made visible to dread-filled eyes.

There is never a preference.

   Fingers slink against the webs of veins, blood flow has stopped.

    Veins are malleable, something Jonathan inherently scours for upon means of ‘hello’. Subtlety is a craft he’s trained himself to. Syringes are merciful, a bullet is merciful. With agony, there is little focus upon anything else, another bullet, another syringe may instill further sufferance, but it will not be anything as treacherous as the anticipation and fret that flows through the veins preceding agony.

    Toxin, however… The body and mind react. 

     The mind depletes, and it is something to behold, something to cherish and fret over as it slips intangibly between tremulous fingers. Men have wept, and to the crazies without their minds, there body decomposes from the inside, thus toying with the mind once again. 

“I prefer implementing medication.” 

He could never quite decide on the dosage.

Results vary, his every patient carries his own unique reaction, physical and emotional. Their lives gone for the purposes of research. It is something for science for one man’s gain.