What Remained
Copyright© 2026 by Heel
Chapter 2: The Exhibition Begins
The band struck a brighter tune, and the murmuring crowd was ushered forward as the first canvas flaps were drawn aside.
Inside, the air was warmer, thick with sawdust and oil. Lamps hung from iron hooks, casting uneven light over a line of raised platforms. The announcer’s voice—different from the doctor’s, louder and practiced—guided the audience from one display to the next.
There was the Fat Man first, seated proudly on a reinforced chair, layers of flesh straining against embroidered fabric. He smiled and bowed, accustomed to the attention, accustomed to being admired and judged in the same breath. Nearby stood a woman with a beard braided neatly down her chest, her gaze sharp, daring anyone to laugh aloud. Further along, a pair of conjoined twins finished each other’s sentences with weary precision.
Gasps, whispers, coins changing hands.
And then the lamps dimmed.
The announcer fell silent.
A different platform was revealed at the far end of the tent, partially screened by dark curtains. These were drawn back slowly, deliberately, as if the space itself demanded caution.
At the center stood a metal frame.
It rose taller than a man, a lattice of iron bars, screws, and adjustable joints. Ropes ran through pulleys overhead, disappearing into shadow, weights hanging motionless at their ends. The apparatus looked less like a stage and more like a machine designed to argue with gravity itself.
And bound within it was the woman.
She was petite, almost fragile in scale, her body seeming overwhelmed by the structure that held her. Her frame was slim, her shoulders narrow, her face soft and youthful, with rounded cheeks and a sweetness that belonged more to drawing rooms than to this place. Her dark eyes were open, alert, following the movement of the crowd with quiet awareness.
She did not speak.
She could not.
Her body was secured at countless points. Metal rods protruded from her legs, fixed with leather-and-steel splints that held bone and joint in positions that looked precise rather than natural. Her knees were braced, her ankles immobilized, each angle chosen deliberately, unforgivingly. The pelvis was encircled by rigid fixators—iron rings and screws that anchored her midsection to the frame, allowing no shift, no mercy.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.