A Blank Canvas

Well hello there...you! How are you doing? Well that is very interesting that you feel that way. Why? I don't know...

Remember how I told you little over a month ago (I think) that I might write some stories? Well I decided I would do that today! Yes, I am going to ignore that strange greeting and just continue with my thoughts. Throughout my life I have had many story ideas go through my head and then either I think about it for a bit never write it down and forget about it, write it down realize I suck at writing and forget my whole plan for it, or I start writing it and it ends up being a super short story that is ridiculous and random and has no real purpose except to entertain me because I was bored.

Well I have had this idea about doing a story about a person who is a prisoner...sort of. I really don't know how to explain it but I will try again. It's about this girl that used to work for a secret spy agency type thing and then got caught by a certain fellow and now lives in his basement so that he can threaten her to make other people from the same spy agency to do what he wants. At least that was the original idea I think. Now I don't know what it is.

Wow. Sorry that was a much longer explanation than I wanted it to be but just a bit more. I had this idea as I was trying to sleep and I decided that I should write it down so I don't completely forget it. Um. If you like it let me know...if you hate it let me know. Give me your thoughts. If you want more of these let me know. Okay yeah so here is the scene in my head (forgive me I'm not a writing person so yeah...).


After the first few minutes the pain isn't that bad. At least that's what I tell myself. If I'm going to be completely honest it is the most painful thing I have ever experienced and I'm lucky enough to experience it every month. The purpose of it is beyond me. The first few months I would sob and ask why but the only answer I ever got was that I'm a blank canvas. My captor, let's call him Jack, claims that he has this amazing idea that will change the world. He's kind of psychotic though. Apparently his idea is too great to risk by writing it down on paper. So he decided to carve it into me.

The first of every month he comes down with his folder and we go into the room. I call it the room because giving it a name like the torture room would just make me panic and make the whole experience worse. Not that it could get much worse. At first I would refuse to go into the room but Jack would always get some of his helpers to carry me to the room screaming and kicking furiously. After a while though I realized it was pointless to fight. I would end up in the room no matter how hard I tried to stay away from it.

In the room there is a table that they strap me onto. Always with my face down. It's almost like a massage table but less comfortable. It has a lever on the side so that it can be raised and lowered. There is a small stand next to the table that Jack puts his folder on. The ceiling is entirely covered by lights so that Jack can see exactly what he is doing. The walls are all painted in a nice blue color. The blue color is supposed to calm me down but I find it very difficult knowing what is going to happen. The floor is some kind of tile so that if blood gets on the floor it is easy to clean. Next to the stand there is a small table that has a metal tray on top of it that carries all of the tools Jack uses. Next to that table there is a fireplace.

Once I'm strapped to the table Jack unbuttons the back of my shirt. I have to wear a weird shirt that has buttons on the back instead of the front every time I have one of these sessions. It gives Jack easy access to my back. He puts the metal part of his tools into the fireplace and then leaves the room. A masseuse then comes in and gives me a back massage. It's probably the only enjoyable experience I have here. I always enjoy it even though part of me says that I shouldn't. The only reason I get these massages is to relax my back muscles so that Jacks "canvas" is as perfect as possible.

Once the massage is done the masseuse leaves and Jack comes back in and pulls out a paper from his folder. He sketches out what he wants to do before he actually does it. After all, if he makes a mistake there really isn't a way to erase the mistake. According to the masseuse Jack is an artist. He does pretty much everything from what I gather but he really just enjoys to draw. His sketches don't make any sense to me. When I asked him about it he says that his idea is encoded in the sketches but only a select few know how to decode it.

With his sketch on the stand and his tools ready to use Jack gets to work. I call them tools just because that is what Jack calls them but there are really just fancy knives. Each one has a different length blade. A painter has different sizes and types of brushes. It's the same for Jack except he uses knives. The idea is to copy his sketch onto my back. He cuts into my back with the intention of creating a scar that will never go away. This way his idea will be forever carved into my back.

I don't understand why he didn't just give me a tattoo. I guess he didn't want to risk it being removed if I ever escaped but this is so much worse. I will always have this on my back. When I look at it in the mirror it looks pretty cool. It's surprising how much detail Jack was able to do. Probably the coolest looking scar someone could ever have but the fact that it was forced on me and I don't even know the true meaning of it makes me hate it. I always thought about getting a tattoo but never knew if I would actually find something that meant enough to me that I would actually get it permanently on my skin. This scar had no meaning to me though. The only thing it told me was that I have failed.

Last I checked it was almost complete. This could be the last session. It covers my entire back. At first I was afraid that he would do it over my whole body but he just seems to want it on my back.

The blades aren't rusty and always cut smoothly through my skin but I feel every cut. My back always aches for at least a week after the session. He used to numb my back before doing it but then he just stopped saying it was making it more difficult for him to properly complete the sketches. It was a total lie if you ask me. He just wanted me to be in pain.

Jack makes one final cut and then stares at my back for a while. He then leans down to the lower right side of my back and makes a few more cuts. Probably putting his initials down like any other artist would do on one of their drawings.

Jack leaves me for a while and I feel blood dripping down the side of my back. I start to take in a deep breath but stop abruptly as the pain becomes more intense. After at least and hour Jack comes back and washes the dried blood off of my back and then admires his handiwork once again. I hear paper crumbling and look at the fire place. Jack just threw his sketches into the fire.

As he unstraps me from the table he says, "This was the last session unless the cuts fail to scar." He helps me off the table and buttons up the back of my shirt again. "I have business that I have to attend to in one week. I will check on the scars then and we will leave."

"We?" I ask. I never leave the basement let alone the house he has me in.

"Yes we. Now that my idea is complete I need to show it to my business partners."

I stare as Jack walks out of the room. Business partners? Are they the few that can decode my back? And why is he bringing me? Doesn't he have the sketches on his back? Why would he need to bring me?

I stared for a while at the open door not moving. I didn't understand but then it hit me. If Jack's idea really does change the world other people would want it. They would probably go to great lengths to get their hands on his idea. That's why he carved it into my back.

A person is harder to steal then a piece of paper.