Oven mitt

An oven mitt. 
It sits there on the counter, inanimate. The dull-colored outer layer of fabric is decorated with flowers, contrasting the dark surface of the faux-marble counter. This is my kitchen… my home-in-a-home… my laboratory.
I pick up the glove and slide it over my right hand. Its interior is soft and warm. Making a fist and giving it a good squeeze, I savor the cottony goodness. Glancing towards the stove, I review my progress. 
A large candy boiler sits atop a small fire. The pot is made of heavy cast iron and covered with bits of old burnt sugar. Inside it, a concoction of water and white sugar boiled. Large bubbles formed and burst as the water content in the already viscous syrup turned to steam. The candy thermometer in the pot reads 157 degrees Celsius, hotter than water could every hope to reach. I grab the wooden spoon next to the stove and slowly submerge it inside the hot sugar. Stirring ever so slowly, I wait until the temperature finally reaches 160 degrees. 
The flame is killed, the spoon removed, and the plan begun.
Time is of the essence here. I remove a large glass syringe from its package and slip a thick covering of clear silicone over it. The insulation would make the device safe to handle and keep the sugar molten. I screw in a large steel needle into the syringe, which resembled a turkey baster more than anything due to its colossal size, and install the plunger. The tip of the needle is dunked into the syrup and the plunger is pulled. I feel the heat of the molten sugar as it is sucked into the syringe. A whopping 300cc’s of the transparent lava is taken. I move the pot into a specially made cooler to prevent the candy from hardening. The preparations are complete. 
I turn and face my prey.
“Let Reimu go, bad man! Where’s the food you said you’d give Reimu? Reimu wants to go outside and take it easy!”
The Yukkureimu I captured yelled from its prison, a glass box. It cannot do a single thing as its body is tightly pressed against the very small walls of the contraption. Capturing it was an easy task, requiring only a banana, stick, and footstool. 
“Man, that was one hell of a trap…”
I snap out of my daydream and resume my experiment. I ready the tip of my completed syringe over the top of the box. Below it is a small porthole designed for my next task. I plunge the needle through the opening and into the yukkuri’s flesh.
Screams. Screams fill the kitchen.
The incredible heat of the syrup easily travels through the metal needle and into the yukkuri’s body. I watch as it tries to flail and escape the box. The glass box does not budge an inch. 
“REIMU IS BURNING! HELP! REIMU IS BURNING! HELP REIMU! IT’S HOT! IT’S HOT! IT BURNS!”
Saliva flies out of its mouth as it screams. Despite its situation, every word it says is heard perfectly. I could feel its pain in its wails, music to my ears. I savor the moment and let the needle linger a bit longer.
And then I push down the plunger.
----
I only have one way of describing what is happening. 
It is in hell.
Its previous shrieks are dwarfed in magnitude and pain. I can’t even tell what it’s saying. It’s too busying trying to slam its face into the walls of its prison. However, all it can manage to do is rub its face against the walls. The tears it sheds boil due to the heat and form a line of scalded skin beneath each eye. Vomit is coming out of its mouth, but it’s mixed with molten sugar. The boiling vomit is stopped by the box and the yukkuri is stewed alive by its own liquefied innards. Super-heated steam cooks and loosens its skin. Thrashing, it slides off its skin much like a cook would peel a tomato. Only a few pieces of skin remain: the parts that were seared to the yukkuri’s flesh. The leftover pieces trace the path of its tears. The source of its tears, its eyes, are puffed up and inflated like miniature balloons. The fluid inside has boiled and wants to leave. 
Pop! Pop! 
The yukkuri loses its eyes. That must have been the breaking point as the yukkuri starts to gnaw at itself. It’s trying to kill itself. Teeth try to chew what used to be lips, cheeks, and tongue. Unfortunately, it is impossible to eat one’s head, so it just ends up removing all the flesh from its face. I clearly see a set of deformed teeth made of hardened bean paste. They are opening and closing, but only touch air, like a macabre teeth toy. 
“GazZazbbahhhcc! Deeaaaaalllllllpppppp ttmmeeeeayomae!”
Having lost most of its face, the yukkuri is unable to form any words. Only wet, primal sounds leave what remains of its mouth. But, that soon changes as the molten sugar finally reaches the bottom of the yukkuri. By now, it was almost hardened and the yukkuri was unable to overcome the viscosity. The yukkuri is encased in a prison of hard, but still hot prison of clear candy. It wants to scream, to move, to escape, but is unable to do so. All it can do it suffer.
It wants to die.
But, it won’t. The cause of its suffering is also the cause for its longevity.
Sugar.
Yukkuri biology is extremely compatible with sugar. Just by touching it, a yukkuri’s body will begin absorbing and transmuting it to sugar. Ingesting sugar has all sorts of beneficial effects such as increased awareness, recovery rate, and resilience for yukkuris. It also acts as a stimulant, preventing them from going to sleep and raising their sensitivity. By pumping such a large amount of candy into the yukkuri, I’ve essentially created an undying yukkuri that would stay awake through anything. And the best thing of all… it would be completely fine again in hours. 
----
I stir the pot. The temperature reaches 160 degrees. I turn off the flame. I prepare the syringe. I turn and face my prey.
The yukkureimu looked as it usually did. No physical traces of its earlier experiences remain. But, one thing is different. It’s not moving. It only stares at me. Its mind is shattered, its soul crushed. Nothing remains. 
I show it the syringe.
It weeps.
Category:Text Stories