The pretty brunette nurse, radiating motherly comfort, chatted pleasantries while she set up the machine.
“Now don’t worry,” she assured me, “you won’t feel a thing.”
I smiled back at her, feeling cozy under the blanket. I wondered if I’d be able to sleep through it.
But when she flipped the switch, a thousand lightning bolts shattered my brain.
The pulses froze my muscles. I couldn’t move or speak.
The nurses stood gossiping quietly and discussing after-work plans as I shrieked and wailed inside my head.
I was trapped inside myself with no way to communicate to the nurses that I was being fried alive from the inside. Horror strangled me.
I bloodied my fists, elbows, knees, forehead against the interior wall of my skull, screaming at them to let me out.
Needles, flames, plyers, hack saws, machetes, hammers, meat hooks, thumb screws collided inside my body, swirling and ripping, clawing and slashing, pounding and scorching, piercing and hacking, squeezing and slicing.
I was boiling and suffocating in pain. Red, hot, frothing, vicious, twisting, torturous torment. My insides writhed and thrashed and melted.
It felt like I had turned inside out and I was gushing and splattering all over the ceiling and walls, erupting nerves, sinew, tissue, organs, blood onto the floor.
And all the while my face, body, eyes are fiercely gripped, locked tight, frozen by the electricity.
Inside my mind I’m jerking, writhing, howling, screeching, bawling, begging, pleading for them to FLIP THE SWITCH! DEAR GOD PLEASE JUST LET ME DIE! TAKE IT AWAY! MAKE IT STOP! OH PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!
After the stipulated six minutes, the nurse switched off the switch and said gently, “There, now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”