Flash Fiction - Terror

           Oliver Stonewell gripped the arms of the chair with increasing tension……He thought he had known what fear was, he DID know what fear was…but terror, this was something new.  The back of his sweat soaked shirt was sticking to the back of the plastic covered chair, he briefly wondered if they made them out of plastic to purposefully increase the discomfort of the chairs users, an added form of torture.   He could feel the beads of sweat, already formed heavily on his brow, begin to trickle down his face as the back of the chair was suddenly and roughly levered backwards, leaving him in a semi prone position, vulnerable, open to whatever his tormentors had in store for him next.  Being pierced with needles was bad enough, but  the man was once more approaching him,  Oliver briefly glimpsed a glint of light reflect off whatever fiendish instrument the man had in his hand, but only a brief glimpse for Oliver had screwed his eyes tight shut, anticipating the pain to come.  He wanted to scream but couldn’t, his mouth dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his pallet.  Then the man spoke, kind words, kind voice, nothing that would betray the violence he was about to perpetrate on to Oliver’s terrorised and quivering body, the man said…..

          “Open wide Mr Stonewell, the Novocaine should have taken effect by now, I’ll have that nasty rotten tooth out in a flash!”