The strap tightened against my waist as I struggled to free myself. My wrists and ankles secured to the rusting metal chair, there was not much I was able to do. The chair I sat on seemed to be from an old barber shop, complete with the bar on the bottom for both lowering and raising the seat. I looked around at my surroundings. I could tell I was in a basement, sitting in the middle of room complete with walls built of grey cement. The only source of light was a single bulb dangling from the ceiling by a thin black wire, casting a sickly yellow glow around the dusty room. The chair I sat on seemed to be the only thing in this room, besides the clumps of dirt littering the stone floor and a stack of about three clay gardening pots in the corner. I did not know how I had managed to get myself into this predicament, I could not recall any previous recent events. My breathing grew shallow, I could feel my inhaler pressed up against my leg, hidden in my pants pocket. I knew I would need it soon, but I had no way of grabbing it, much less using it.
I could hear heavy footsteps approaching me from behind, I attempted to look at what ever was coming towards me. However, I could not twist my body enough to see anything besides the rigid headrest of the chair. I turned my head forward and could see their shadow growing larger on the wall. The figure seemed to be very androgynous. The only distinct feature being a sharp object hanging from one of the figures arms.
They came to stand directly in front of me, old rusty garden shears in his hand. It was difficult to distinguish that they were in fact a man, though I guessed from the body shape and the worn and dirty hands. The face was nothing to go off of, concealed under a rubber clown mask. The eyes and mouth too eager and happy making it utterly terrifying. His hair was chopped off, as if a young child had done it. His clothes were loose and muddy; a large plaid button up shirt draped loosely over his figure, ripped khaki pants, and old worn brown leather shoes caked with dried mud. It had seemed as if he never changed or washed his clothes, and spent much of his time in dirt. His hands hung limply at his side, clinging to the scissors in his left hand. His head began to slowly tilt to one side, almost as if he is inspecting me. I could feel his eyes glaze over me but only saw the dark holes in the mask. A single tear ran down my left cheek, I was sure I wouldn’t make it out of this.
Fear seized through me as I embraced for the impending death. My breathing began to speed up as he took a step towards me; my asthma taking hold of my body as I gasped for air, but only pure fright filled my lungs. I could feel my heartbeat pounding quickly throughout the entirety of my body as the man, yet again, takes a step towards me. The room and the man began to grow distorted as my eyesight abandoned me. A sudden lightheadedness, which normally accompanies my syncopy, grabbed a hold of me. I could only hear a high-pitched droning buzz as I tried to regain any control over my body. Seemingly impossible I submitted to my fate. This option seemed a much better way to go out then being brutally mutilated by some psychopath clown. My mind began to wander to thoughts of my family and old life; I wondered if anybody had noticed my absence yet. How much time had past since I had last seen then. I didn’t even know what day it was. A silent prayer forms in my head almost unconsciously, I had always been a religious person and knew God would never abandon me at this time in need.
My eyes roll back as everything goes black. I’m barely conscious now, just my hearing left. the high-pitched buzz drones on as I hear the first cut. snip.