You were in a hurry to get to work, but the catch was rain; it covered the black asphalt that morning like a blanket - the road, or you, had not woken up yet. You chose to get a house in the country a couple months ago, but the low cost of the home didn't make up for the extra time and money you have spent commuting - about two hours a day to and from your place of work.
Since you moved into the country, the low population out there didn't get much democracy accomplished like any rural area, so you ended up with those roads that weren't flat, but more like the top of a cake - these were very dumb looking roads, and were not built for rainstorms. Though the rain doesn't sit on a contoured country road, it runs off it's sides quite like your car that morning. Your so called "sport utility vehicle" couldn't get proper traction when you took that sharp left, and it just kind of slid off the road. The other catch was, that the side of the road was a steep edge which terminated into a revine of some sorts - which was now full of water.
Sliding off road was such a bad idea for you and your SUV, because it ended up on it's roof. The windshield and everything else had cracked, and water quickly poured into the cabin. Of course, you didn't know this - you were sound asleep.
Since you now lived in the country, you thought that wearing a safety harness wasn't necessary, especially since you drove such a big car. But now that good old boy mentality has quite possibly caused you some serious problems; the water has now submerged your nose, and your mouth - all that sticks out now is your neck; an onlooker would think this image quite spooky.
An so there came an onlooker, or in this case, a brave country man who just loves to wade around in knee-deep water while trying to rescue his fellow SUV-man. Even though this rescuer looks down on things from Hollywood, there is something so adventurous about the rain that pours off the brim of his hat; there is something so exhilerating about the rain that soaks his clothes - he takes his shirt off and wraps it around his fist as a protective mitt so that he may punch in the glass. It rains on the man's bare back, and he feels like Indiana Jones - that Hollywood cowboy historian.
Smash!
The countryman shatters the glass, and fragments of it spread across the water above your submerged face - by the time the man raises your head out of the water, some of the glass has drifted into your mouth and down your throat. The countryman eagerly tests his sexuality by recesitating you without your knowing - some foreign country lips are on yours now, blowing air into your lungs - blowing that glass further into who knows where; the last time the man had been in contact with a male orally was when he was a curious country boy, and pretended to drown when his friend was around.
You choke to life after a few minutes; as you can imagine the shock of disorientation - test yourself by pretending to wake up to this right now.
"Gaddamn! We got to get you to a doctor! I don't have a mobile, so I's gonna take you myself!"
The good old boy lays you down in the bed of his truck as you soon realize that you couldn't feel the lower half of your body - yes, even your genetalia. You don't really care that he layed you on a bed of solid steel leaf suspended upon a rough country road - he only had a single cab long bed Silverado - a phallus of a truck, you think.
You thought that when the truck would stop, an awning of some sorts would be above you, or at least the presence of a hospital emergency drive thru type structure. But the skidding of the tires on gravel suggested you had stopped somewhere more rural than the hospital.
"I'll be right back, son." He popps his head above you for a moment and then disappears. You think to yourself why he calls you son since he looks about your age - thirty-ish.
The tailgate closes, and you strain your crooked neck to see him with a green vinyl-upholstered streacher. He pulls you by your feet and slides you onto the slick green machine; after your body is all the way on, he straps your upper, mid, and lower sections for safety. He rolls you across the rough gravel, under a carport, and into the silence of what is obviously his home, his kitchen.
Out the corner of your vision, you can see that there is an island in the middle of this kitchen affixed with a built-in industrial-size stove which you might see in a Denny's. Above the stove, you thought you saw decorative drop-down lights, but you then notice that they are two security cameras. A cooking show?
Before you become truly frightened, he unbuckles the straps which had fastened you to that green streacher. After that, he procedes to remove your shoes, your socks, and then...
"We're going to have to take this off."
He flips out a hunting knife that is used to sear through deer hide and cuts the fabric of your undershirt in three different places - it comes off easily, as do your pants and everything else. Now you wonder.
"Don't worry" the man says "I'm a doctor."
If the pain you were enduring was less, you might have attempted to fight the man, but at this point, you'd accept anything. But this - if you only knew what he was about to do, you would have magically tried to run out of that place.
That stove you saw, you were soon on top of it and feeling the heat. You looked above into the iris of one of the cameras and wondered who would ever be watching this in the future. Soon, your too hot to feel humiliated - he turns up the burners on the lower half of your body - you can only smell yourself cooking away - you hoped now that you would never be able to feel them again.
"I'm in a psycho house." You come to terms with this, just like you came to terms with the gas prices - but so much for gas prices; your guzzler is in a ditch getting all rusty and investigated. The cops know that you're missing, and so will everyone else. But you know where you are, your in hell.
