Bob Redliud woke up in a fog, blinking his eyes as he tried to work the cottony feel out of his mouth. The ceiling he was staring at was familiar, Bob recognizing it as his own. The heavy oak dining room table he was lying on top of was just as known, though Bob couldn't remember ever wanting to take a nap on it before.

This had to be a nap after all. Bob told himself that this was some sort of dream or something because he didn't ever sleep out in the kitchen. He had no idea what the man in the weird plastic body suit was meant to represent in his psyche about him though. Bob decided that he would have to remember this, and look it up in a dream dictionary when he woke up.

While he was at it, Bob made a mental note to look up 'tiny men' as well because there was one sitting on his naked chest, just sitting there, staring at him with sad blue eyes and a furrowed brow. It was starting to freak him more the fuck out than the plastic suit guy who seemed to be neatly laying out equipment of some kind at the end of his dining room table.

His eyes wouldn't focus right though, vision fading in and out strangely. Had he been drinking? Bob didn't remember pouring himself a cold one. And why was that creepy fucking little man still staring at him?

Bob opened his mouth to tell the little man to fuck off, but only slurred sounds came out, his throat feeling all numb and funny like he had swallowed a shit load of Novocain while at the dentist.

"That is unfortunate….you being awake and all. He's about to begin." the little man said, sounding sad for some reason. He was dressed well for a pixie, the tiny dark haired man immaculate in a tiny three piece suit, blue and pinstriped. Bob was a little pissed at his subconscious for dressing up some fairy better than it did him in real life or dreams. From what Bob could tell, he was naked. He tried lifting his head but everything felt too heavy, none of his muscles responding to his commands as they should.

Which was a shame really because plastic wrap guy decided at that moment to hold down Bob's arm and drive nails into it through his wrists. The 60d common nails that were used to secure his arms and then his ankles were six inches long and driven in at angles to better keep Bob still and fixated to the table. He could have told plastic guy he didn't need to do that, that he knew these nails well and that they used to pole line hardware to wooden telephone poles. Bob used them everyday. He just never thought he would have been used on him.

It took that pain and shock to sharpen Bob's dull senses, finally recognizing plastic guy to an extent. Not too long ago, Bob had been working in an upscale part of Baltimore's suburbs, the streets there filled with fancy houses and carefully tended yard work. Bob had been up in the lines when he had dropped some nails, his mistake falling into the street below. Just his crappy luck a car came by soon afterward, blowing out a tire after picking one of Bob's nails in its tread. The owner of the unfortunate black Bentley pulled over immediately. It didn't take much to put two and two together to figure out that the four involved Bob not giving a fuck enough to come down and pick up his nails.

The Bentley guy had even gone to the extent of walking his happy ass over to Bob to bitch at him. Bob hadn't given him the chance, telling the guy to fuck off. Bentley guy was dressed in a suit and drove an expensive car. As far as Bob had been concerned, if anyone could afford a blown tire it was that rich prick. Some people just had shitty luck. Instead of bitching back though, the Bentley guy had simply taken down the company's information. After a quick call to AAA, the Bentley guy left without another word to Bob.

"It was your badge number. It had your name on it." the tiny man answered the question that Bob didn't even know he had wanted or needed to ask. It was hard to focus on anything else but the pain and the terrible plastic man's face. It was so fucking calm, gentle even while the sadist drove more nails into him, fixing Bob firmly to his own dining room table.

"Why do you have pliers?" was what Bob didn't want to hear the pixie say, the tiny man turning around to watch what plastic guy was doing now. His murderer responded in a hushed accented tone, the words lost in translation somewhere in the rush of endorphins, lingering sedatives, and adrenaline that was making Bob's head pound. "I don't care if it is for art. That's messed up."

Bob tried to struggle, crying out muffled unintelligent words in the process. Belated, he realized that he was just tearing his own flesh apart and inflicting more pain on himself.

"I know you have to kill him now. I'm just pointing out that you're getting really thin skinned is all. Everyone has a bad day." the tiny man sighed heavily, plopping down on Bob's heaving chest which was rolling like an ocean trying to take in air to push the pain out. "Wow, did you screw up. Just so you know, yes, you're going to die. Quite horribly in fact."

Plastic guy was back in view now with the mentioned pliers in hands. Bob didn't want to think about what and where the guy was going to use them on. The tiny fairy must have been thinking along those same lines.

"Do I have to watch?" the tiny man asked, sounding reproachful about it like it were a chore instead of torture. The plastic man pressed a kiss to the top of the tiny man's head in answer. The pixie sighed again, turning around to watch as Bob's fingernails were pulled out, one by one as the dream became terror.

OoOoO

TBC