Isaiah

They slammed me onto the rolling table and strapped me down.

I looked around wildly.

I was surrounded.

Let me go!

I screamed, twisting and turning and pulling at the restraints.

They rolled me through the open doorway and down a seemingly endless white hallway.

They laughed and laughed and laughed.

They waved their shiny scalpels and razors and needles mere inches from my face just to make me flinch and scream.

It made them laugh even harder.

The last thing I remember, before one of them finally injected me, was the hands.

Gloved fingers prodded inside my mouth and pulled at my lips, distorting my screams and forcing an unnatural grin onto my tear-streaked, sweaty face.

Hot, rancid breath was in my face, and a whispered, perverted voice spoke the words, We love to see you smile.

Then as the maniacal laughter seemed to warp and wind down like a dying record player, everything faded to black.

I feel like this is someone venting a lot about a deep fear of clowns, I guess.

Yes.

We're doing something with our time.

I suppose.

Uh, it, it,

It is insane how quickly it goes from, oh, well, I was a bad kid.

I got moved from house to house.