Splat.
Splat.
Splat.
With a rhythmic cadence so slow, so precise, that it almost lulled him back to sleep. It might have too, if his body had not chosen that exact moment to let his mind know that it was not amused by how it had been treated.
He tried to wiggle his hands and sit up. His arms refused to obey. He’d had wild nights before, but he must have really gone crazy this time. Bracing against the headache he thought would be inevitable, he squinted open an eye to try to see which alley he had ended up in this time.
A hand and a rope. Why is that hand hanging by that rope. Someone must be looking for it. He laughed at his dark humor, until his mind gave him another kick in the ass. A hand. A real human hand. It hung in front of him, suspended by thick yellow rope. The kind you get at hardware stores to tie the mattress to the top of your car.
Holy shit!
He forced his eyes open wider. His mind took this as another sign. It told him he was lying on something hard and cold and metallic.
Straining his neck, he tried to lean forward to look more closely at the appendage hanging ominously by that yellow rope. A ring glinted off the second finger, catching light from a thin beam of synthetic light coming from beyond the space his mind had introduced him to yet. A silver ring with the eagle perched as though ready to fly. Wow. That looks like my ring.
My ring.
That is my ring.
His heart stopped. His minded started up again.
His head could not decide between a whip, or a slow turn. His eyes, following a will of their own, rolled toward his right elbow. His arm. And then looked back up to the yellow rope. His hand. His scream.
The slow dripping stopped suddenly as he tried to roll into himself. But nothing moved. He strained his neck up higher, and suddenly, his surroundings became illuminated. The room was filled with hundreds of hands and feet and arms and legs all suspended by the same yellow hardware store rope from the pipes of an exposed ceiling.
The mirror rolled slowly into place, Pulled along by the creak of a chain.
Should he?
He did.
His eyes looked up to see a head. His head. And neck. And torso. Beside him stood a figure cloaked in blood. He heard the whir of a blade. And saw the edge sweep towards his neck. He heard the cackle say “I keep my heads in another room.”
Disjoint Wisdom 