Bad Doggy

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. My hair was ripped out in clumps. Dried blood and dirt caked the sides of my cheeks. My bloodshot eyes squinted through pulsing flesh. I saw the iron collar that hung loosely around my neck along with the short chain that bound it to the concrete wall behind me. My wrists and ankles were similarly clasped with a chain that connected all four limbs. This mirror was my only source of reality and as much as I wanted it to, it was unable to lie.

I heard my captor making his way back down the wooden staircase. The entire basement was damp and cold, which made the wood creak when he walked on it. He was dragging the corpse of a deer behind him as he walked past me. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and beer as usual. The deer’s fur had small bits of snow stuck to it, which I guess meant it was winter. He lifted the deer onto his butcher table and began to carve the animal. I kept quiet as he worked on the beast, doing everything I could to not draw any attention to myself. He put some small scraps onto a hot plate while he wrapped up steak after steak, placing them in the rusty old ice box nearby.

When he was finished, he took the scraps off the hot plate and put them into my dog bowl.

“Sit boy.” He barked at me, with my food in his hand.

The first time he commanded me in this way, I had been in the basement for only a few hours. I spat at him that day and shot a flurry of swear words off. He in turn called me a bad doggy, proceeding to kick me squarely in the nose, immediately breaking it. As I recoiled in shock and pain, he grabbed my left hand, took his butcher’s knife, and swiftly chopped off my pinkie, ring, and middle finger. He then gave me a moment to let my adrenaline dip so that I could fully understand the situation I was in and the amount of blood I was losing. He told me to be a good doggy from now on. He took my left hand and pressed the exposed wounds firmly on his hot plate, holding them there to burn the flesh and cauterize the wounds. Before he left me that day, he made me watch as he ate my three fingers. He tossed the bones in front of me and told me to be a good doggy and clean up my toys. When I went to pick them up, he kicked me in the ribs, saying that good doggies do everything with their mouths.

“I said SIT Boy!” He said, much louder this time. He immediately spat a wad of thick brown tobacco-ridden saliva onto my face. I sat on my heels with my hands on my thighs.

“Stick out your tongue boy.” My lips quivered as I stifled back tears, but I stuck out my tongue.

“Good doggy, now if you want dinner, you’re gonna have to do a little trick first. Go on now, you stay nice and still, STAY! YOU HEAR ME?” I stayed completely still. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick. I blacked out.

#

When I came back to reality, he was no longer in the basement. I looked at my dog bowl and saw that it was empty. I must have eaten the scraps he left for me, but I had no memory of doing so. I inspected my body the best I could to make sure I didn’t have any wounds that needed immediate attention. I turned around and looked over my shoulder at the mirror across from me. As I did, I noticed the mirror had a brand-new crack sectioning off the mirror’s top right corner. While I looked at my back, I saw someone else in the corner of the mirror. I spun back around expecting it to just be a trick of the light, but to my surprise, it didn’t go away.

“Hungry?” The man in the mirror said. I paused a moment.

“...No.” I replied.

“No of course you’re not. I took care of that for us.”

The man in the mirror did not share the cuts and bruises I had, but the more I looked at him, the more I realized, it was me. Or at least, what I used to look like. Only this wasn’t what I used to look like, in fact, this man looked considerably better than I ever had. His skin was soft and clear, his hair silky and styled, and his eyes were glowing between expertly done eye liner and mascara. The only thing that didn’t look perfect was red lipstick smudged across his mouth.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“That doesn’t matter, we got fed and you didn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to do, now did you?”

“No I guess I didn’t. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and I’m sorry about all of those.” He gestured to the bruises I had that he did not.

“I’ll be here when you need me.” He said before sinking back into the mirror.

The next day, my captor returned down the damp wooden stairs. He had no deer with him this time, but instead a flail he had made from an old, frayed belt. Just as I thought he was going to say something to me, he spat a thick warm snot before striking me with his flail. Before the sensation returned to my face, I blacked out once again.

#

When I awoke, I felt my face stinging. I looked over at the mirror which now had another crack in it.

“You’re awake. Good.”

“Thank you.” I said to the new man. He had a crew cut and a sharp jaw. It was still me, but he looked stronger and had the eyes of a warrior. This man had the same cuts and bruises as I did, but he wore them proudly.

“Don’t mention it soldier. I am always here when you need me. Oorah!” He grunted, before disappearing into the mirror.

#

I wasn’t sure how many, but days continued to pass. Eventually the mirror had more cracks than I cared to count. My first two companions, who I called “hot-me” and “sergeant-me” took all of my sexual and physical assault respectively. Then there was “cannibal-me”, “toilet-me”, “dog-me,” and “philosopher-me,” the last of which handled the task of sobbing myself to sleep every night. There were all these versions of myself now, who spoke with me periodically, and helped me through every day. I loved them all.

#

Seasons passed and the deer fur no longer carried the snow of winter, until enough time passed, and then it did again. There was no longer a section in the mirror that was big enough to see myself as I was anymore.

I heard my captor coming back down the wooden stairs and started to catch the scent of his cigarettes and beer. I looked toward my friends in the mirror, wondering who would come through and take my place today. When my captor got down the stairs, he looked at me.

“Why the fuck are you always staring at this old thing? You like the way you look doggy? Huh?”

As he spoke, I began to feel the familiar feeling of being taken out of myself and into the mirror. His voice began to soften, and the sharpness of his words became dull. A quiet and peaceful humming started to fill my mind, and the light began to fade away. Just as I was about to completely let go, he delivered a swift and powerful blow to the mirror, which completely shattered the frame and left it in little pieces on the ground.

#

The next thing I knew, his body was in shreds on the ground in front of me. I looked down at my hands, which were almost completely skinned from where I had ripped them out of their bindings. Most of the flesh had been taken off and was stuck in the metal cuffs that used to hold them. My feet were similarly broken and torn. My jaw was cracked, and I could feel that most of the skin on my head had been ripped as well. Despite all of this, my captor was dead, and I was free of my bindings. I looked at the shards of the mirror on the ground and began to drag my body across the ground towards the stairs.

As I passed each shard, my friends looked at me and wished me luck. I told them that I loved them, and that I was going to finally let us all free. They cheered for me and continued to encourage me as I pulled myself up each damp wooden stair.

I dragged myself out of the small home and onto the snowy ground outside. I rolled over onto my back and spread my bloody limbs out as much as my body would let me. I looked up into the sunny winter sky and felt the familiar feeling of the mirror pulling me in. I heard all of my friends welcoming me to join them.

“Everyone, meet snow-angle me.” I said.