Sightless

 A certain Mr. Rogers, in his mid-forties, was strapped down to a stainless steel bed. He had only just gained consciousness and was trying to understand his surroundings.  He had been on his farm turning the manure pile only a blink ago. Now he was in a stark white room with florescent lighting that reminded him of a hospital theatre except he did not think patients got tied down. Mr. Roger had not been able to move any part of his body. Still, his head was raised so he could see most of the room. To his right, there were three trays on a trolley that bore all kinds of sharp and pointy objects. Jer would know what they are. He did not know why his brother came to mind so easily when he spent a decade pretending he did not exist.

 The door opened and a woman entered. She had jet black hair that made her already pale skin look lifeless. Pretty, Asian and very small. Mr. Roger guessed that she was a whole foot smaller. She was wearing the same white clothes as him.

 “Mr. Roger, isn’t it?” She spoke like a long-time acquaintance. “You have finally woken up.”

 She was moving unbelievably fast and was beside him a second later, pushing the trolley away so she could get closer. There was a detached look on her face and her fingers were very cold as she prodded his face. The woman made a noise of approval.

 “This is good, Mr. Roger. We will begin soon,”

 “Begin?” So he could speak, if you call that croak speaking. His throat felt so parched that he could hear himself breath. The woman just smiled and moved back enough to allow the trolley to be pulled back to it’s former position. Mr. Roger noticed it had moved unassisted.

 “Begin…”

 “You don’t need to know,” she replied going to his left.

 He did need to know why he was here and what they were planning to do to him. When he looked at the woman while she was studying him, he noted that she looked young enough to be considered a teenager but carried herself with more maturity than they could muster. Kind of like that girl. The strength behind her eyes as she glared at them belied her actual age but there was little doubt afterwards. Mr. Roger’s stomach curled at the memory. No, he would rather not remember. The woman went behind where he could not see her. He heard a distinct sound of doors sliding open.

 “Why?” he whispered but in the silent room it sounded much louder. Why me?

  “Can you see, Mr. Roger?” another voice replied. A male one that came from everywhere at once. The quiet that followed was damning.

 “Yes,”

 “Can you feel, Mr. Roger?”

What the hell?

“There is your answer,” the disembodied voice said. It began laughing without mirth, each burst of laughter sounding very robotic.

 He could see her again before the doors behind closed.

 “I don’t understand,”

 She paused as if considering her words. “You do not want to understand. Not yet at least,” she said putting on a pair of gloves. She picked up a large syringe and a small vial.

 “I want to,” he breathed. Mr. Roger struggled to raise his voice but his airway became constricted and he could feel wetness on his cheeks, cooling and still spilling from his eyes. “Please.”

 “You saw something with your own eyes and felt a need to help like any functioning person, Mr. Roger, but still you did nothing,” the woman said icily.

 It’s all in good fun, c’mon now Roger.

 “I…” he tried but words failed him. What could he say?

 “Now we start.”
 The needle pierced his skin. In the moment after that, the man felt as if his entire arm was filled with molten lead. The heavy, excruciating pain travelled quickly to his shoulder, chest before completely engulfing his entire upper body. He could not scream as he could not breathe. Strangely, even more so than the fact that he could still think and distinguish, his legs were spared. His vision was deteriorating. Everything seemed to be a light source and became very blurry. He saw a gray metal emitting a dark glow coming closer until he could see nothing else.