Categories
Captured [A Short Story of Mine]
KridesBrideBritt
Posts: 25,781 jayfacer
I don't remember if I posted this on the old Mayhem forums, but I just found this on my computer. Please let me know what you think. I would really appreciate constructive comments.
Captured
By Brittanie Ricciuti
I open my eyes and agony rips through my nasal passage. The taste of bile is lingering in the back of my throat. When did I throw up? I can't feel my fingertips. Where am I? I glance around me despite the pain in my neck protesting the sudden movement. The room is a stranger to me. A broken green chair is laying forgotten in the left corner of the room and an overstuffed couch rests underneath the room's sole window. The curtains are drawn but a single patch of light filters through, illuminating the dust floating in the air. I resist the urge to sneeze. The smell of sweat has seeped into the room. Taking a deep breath, I inhale some sort of stale cologne, causing my burning eyes to water. I must remain calm and find an exit. There is a door, dull brown with a silver knob, paint peeling off in strips. I can see a sliver of light in the crack between the door and the filthy carpet.
I strain to hear the faint voices just outside the door. Fast-paced whispers discussing me. Something about ransom.
Pain explodes in my temple, driving me to the floor. My fingers move toward my forehead. Blood. How did that get there? My breath begins to quicken, matching the oncoming footsteps. One, two, three, four.
While I am still on the floor covered in blood, a key pops open the lock and the dull brown door creaks towards me.
A tall man with a red top hat is framed by a soft yellow light. He is wearing a pale red coat and brown slacks. My eyes drift to his gloved hands. He is clutching one of those Polaroid cameras. A chilling smile penetrates his stern features as he lifts the camera and snaps a picture, blood and all. My body relaxes as he sticks a needle in my arm.
A stinging sensation in my cheek jerks me back to this world.
“I'M AWAKE!” I scream.
I try to raise my right hand in retaliation, only to discover that both my arms are bound with thin, silver wire. I wiggle my wrists slightly and the wire digs in deeper. Shit. That's not good.
The man with the red top hat is lounging on the couch, smoking a cigar. His lips and hands are moving.
“I don't understand what you are saying. Speak up if it's so damn important.”
The smile on his face disappears as he stands up and walks over to me.
I am granted a dream. Greeted by a flash, a woman with flowing brown hair and wearing a yellow dress captures me on film. The sound of birds chirping fills the air as she laughs and runs over to a tire swing. I notice that I am standing underneath a willow tree. She jumps on the tire swing and yelps as she is whipped around. A little girl trots up to me with a devious look in her eyes. She has my nose. She holds out her hands to reveal muddy rocks.
“Will ya come skip stones with me, Jerry? Please.” She bats her long eyelashes at me, grinning and points to the lake just past the willow tree. I take her hand and lead her to the beach.
People that seem familiar are sitting on the beach in lawn chairs. They stare at me as I walk up hand-in-hand with the little girl. A big black dog barks and breaks it’s leash, rushing over to me. He has a red top hat in his teeth. I wrestle the top hat out of the dog’s mouth and put it on top of my head. It fits perfectly.
A memory invades my dream. Dinner. Scraping silverware and mashed potatoes. My father is saying something but I can't decipher what it is. My mom is nodding to whatever he is blabbering about and my little sister is just twirling her fork in her peas. I put a bite of mashed potatoes in my mouth and savor it as the warm, buttery fluff slides down my throat. I can't wait for tomorrow, I get to leave this stuffy house. All the things I will need are packed in identical suitcases that my grandparents bought me for Christmas. I wish I could take my entire room with me, but that's just ridiculous. The bus ride will be boring but rewarding in the end.
“Jerry? Are you listening to me?” My father's voice slices through my thoughts. I meet his eyes. My eyes. The same rich brown. My father's tie is still perfect even though it's dinner in his own home and no one but us will see him. There is no one he must impress. I think he keeps it on just to intimidate me. It works most of the time.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Quickly, I stuff a piece of steak too big to chew in my mouth.
“Please cut your food before you eat it, Jerry, you're not an animal.” My father can never just leave me alone. “If you were listening, what did I just say?” A challenge, oh goody.
“Er...uh...you were saying how good mom's mashed potatoes are tonight.” A bullshit answer, I know. The cook makes the dinner. I just fix my face with a smile and wait for him to berate me yet again. My father sighs in obvious disappointment and disgust.
“No, son, nothing of the kind. I was saying that since security is going to be increased, I might need to cancel your summer trip with your friends. I would think that was something you would want to pay attention to. And yes, the mashed potatoes are delightful.” He glances at my mom who simply nods her head. She flashes me an apologetic look.
“What! Why? The new security is for you, not me! I don't see why the hell you have to say that I can't go! This is fucking bullshit.” I can feel my face getting flushed and my fork has already slipped out of my hand from anger. He can't do this to me. He knows it's the only thing I've been looking forward to for the past few months.
“Jerry! Your little sister is at the table!” My mom gasps . I peek at my sister. She is giggling. I love that kid, she's my only ally in this house, even if she's only seven.
“You are not going. That's final.” My father snaps at me. He slams his knife down on the table, causing some of his wine to spill. “Now, go to your room, young man.” He scowls at me as he fiddles with his tie, only succeeding in making it even tighter.
What my father doesn't know is that no matter what, I will be on that bus tomorrow.
Music is blaring in my headphones as I watch the countryside fly by outside my window. The bus is speeding westward toward California, my salvation for the summer. Father must be boiling mad right now; he should have found out by this time that I’m not in my room. My mind is swirling with plans for when I get off the bus in beautiful California. I ease into a dream, soothed by the humming of the bass of my music.
A tap on my shoulder yanks me out of my sleep. A little boy with shaggy brown hair is standing in the aisle next to my seat. He holds a child's camera in his tiny hands.
“We're at a rest stop, mister,” he blurts out. “Can I take your picture, mister? Please? I want to remember every part of this trip.” His cute voice has a slight lisp that makes me chuckle a little.
“Sure kid. Make sure you get my good side.” I sit up straight and give the boy my best smile, the one I normally save for when I have to appear with my father. The flash leaves dots in my vision as the boy trots away to his mother outside the bus. I look around, seeing that I am the only one left on the bus. Gathering up my shoulder bag, I step off the bus.
The sun stings my eyes as it bounces off the white concrete of the sidewalk. I take in my surroundings. A McDonald's, a Burger King and a diner with a sign declaring “The Tumbleweed Bar and Grill: Open 24 Hours.” A gaggle of children run through the parking lot, screaming and yelling, their parents close on their tails. Two men are hanging out by the one-story dilapidated motel. They both are wearing coats, one pale red and the other faded black. That's odd, its too hot out for heavy coats. The taller man with the red coat is twirling his red top hat in his hand as he puffs on a cigar. My eyes lock with his for an instant. A look of recognition crosses his face.
For some reason unknown to me, a feeling of panic overwhelms me. Find a bathroom. Must throw up. Bolting to the Burger King, I rush through the bathroom door to the last stall. My knees buckle in front of the toilet as I heave out last night's dinner. The bathroom door opens and someone flicks off the overhead lights.
“Hey! Turn that back on! I'm in here, damn it!” Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I unlatch the stall door only to confront the strange man from earlier. He stinks of cheap cologne. In his hand is a damp rag. He cracks a smile just before he presses the rag to my face.
That wretched cologne enters my mind again. The man in the red top hat is sitting in front of me, sipping a beer. Why is his top hat red? Red seems to be such a silly color for a top hat.
“I just want to go home.” I groan and my stomach does acrobatics. He laughs and then lunges at me suddenly, dropping his beer.
“You should have listened to your father, boy, and stayed home.” His voice is higher pitched than I would have imagined it. It had a maniacal quality that cause my to ears prickle. I see the glint of the small knife in his left hand just before he plunges it into my ribs. A cold, slippery feeling rushes up my spine into the base of my neck. Cold, so very cold. A children’s lullaby plays over and over in my head. The man pushes over my chair. I can see the rain hitting the window. Somehow, it comforts me. Sleep, he says, just sleep.
Tears stream down my face. I can't do this much longer. I don't want to give up. Maybe if I hold on one more hour my father will find me. My left arm is burning. Something squishy and warm flows down my face. I slit my eyes open just a bit. White cloth. It feels soft against my skin. I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. It's not there.
Captured
By Brittanie Ricciuti
I open my eyes and agony rips through my nasal passage. The taste of bile is lingering in the back of my throat. When did I throw up? I can't feel my fingertips. Where am I? I glance around me despite the pain in my neck protesting the sudden movement. The room is a stranger to me. A broken green chair is laying forgotten in the left corner of the room and an overstuffed couch rests underneath the room's sole window. The curtains are drawn but a single patch of light filters through, illuminating the dust floating in the air. I resist the urge to sneeze. The smell of sweat has seeped into the room. Taking a deep breath, I inhale some sort of stale cologne, causing my burning eyes to water. I must remain calm and find an exit. There is a door, dull brown with a silver knob, paint peeling off in strips. I can see a sliver of light in the crack between the door and the filthy carpet.
I strain to hear the faint voices just outside the door. Fast-paced whispers discussing me. Something about ransom.
Pain explodes in my temple, driving me to the floor. My fingers move toward my forehead. Blood. How did that get there? My breath begins to quicken, matching the oncoming footsteps. One, two, three, four.
While I am still on the floor covered in blood, a key pops open the lock and the dull brown door creaks towards me.
A tall man with a red top hat is framed by a soft yellow light. He is wearing a pale red coat and brown slacks. My eyes drift to his gloved hands. He is clutching one of those Polaroid cameras. A chilling smile penetrates his stern features as he lifts the camera and snaps a picture, blood and all. My body relaxes as he sticks a needle in my arm.
~
A stinging sensation in my cheek jerks me back to this world.
“I'M AWAKE!” I scream.
I try to raise my right hand in retaliation, only to discover that both my arms are bound with thin, silver wire. I wiggle my wrists slightly and the wire digs in deeper. Shit. That's not good.
The man with the red top hat is lounging on the couch, smoking a cigar. His lips and hands are moving.
“I don't understand what you are saying. Speak up if it's so damn important.”
The smile on his face disappears as he stands up and walks over to me.
~
I am granted a dream. Greeted by a flash, a woman with flowing brown hair and wearing a yellow dress captures me on film. The sound of birds chirping fills the air as she laughs and runs over to a tire swing. I notice that I am standing underneath a willow tree. She jumps on the tire swing and yelps as she is whipped around. A little girl trots up to me with a devious look in her eyes. She has my nose. She holds out her hands to reveal muddy rocks.
“Will ya come skip stones with me, Jerry? Please.” She bats her long eyelashes at me, grinning and points to the lake just past the willow tree. I take her hand and lead her to the beach.
People that seem familiar are sitting on the beach in lawn chairs. They stare at me as I walk up hand-in-hand with the little girl. A big black dog barks and breaks it’s leash, rushing over to me. He has a red top hat in his teeth. I wrestle the top hat out of the dog’s mouth and put it on top of my head. It fits perfectly.
~
A memory invades my dream. Dinner. Scraping silverware and mashed potatoes. My father is saying something but I can't decipher what it is. My mom is nodding to whatever he is blabbering about and my little sister is just twirling her fork in her peas. I put a bite of mashed potatoes in my mouth and savor it as the warm, buttery fluff slides down my throat. I can't wait for tomorrow, I get to leave this stuffy house. All the things I will need are packed in identical suitcases that my grandparents bought me for Christmas. I wish I could take my entire room with me, but that's just ridiculous. The bus ride will be boring but rewarding in the end.
“Jerry? Are you listening to me?” My father's voice slices through my thoughts. I meet his eyes. My eyes. The same rich brown. My father's tie is still perfect even though it's dinner in his own home and no one but us will see him. There is no one he must impress. I think he keeps it on just to intimidate me. It works most of the time.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Quickly, I stuff a piece of steak too big to chew in my mouth.
“Please cut your food before you eat it, Jerry, you're not an animal.” My father can never just leave me alone. “If you were listening, what did I just say?” A challenge, oh goody.
“Er...uh...you were saying how good mom's mashed potatoes are tonight.” A bullshit answer, I know. The cook makes the dinner. I just fix my face with a smile and wait for him to berate me yet again. My father sighs in obvious disappointment and disgust.
“No, son, nothing of the kind. I was saying that since security is going to be increased, I might need to cancel your summer trip with your friends. I would think that was something you would want to pay attention to. And yes, the mashed potatoes are delightful.” He glances at my mom who simply nods her head. She flashes me an apologetic look.
“What! Why? The new security is for you, not me! I don't see why the hell you have to say that I can't go! This is fucking bullshit.” I can feel my face getting flushed and my fork has already slipped out of my hand from anger. He can't do this to me. He knows it's the only thing I've been looking forward to for the past few months.
“Jerry! Your little sister is at the table!” My mom gasps . I peek at my sister. She is giggling. I love that kid, she's my only ally in this house, even if she's only seven.
“You are not going. That's final.” My father snaps at me. He slams his knife down on the table, causing some of his wine to spill. “Now, go to your room, young man.” He scowls at me as he fiddles with his tie, only succeeding in making it even tighter.
What my father doesn't know is that no matter what, I will be on that bus tomorrow.
~
Music is blaring in my headphones as I watch the countryside fly by outside my window. The bus is speeding westward toward California, my salvation for the summer. Father must be boiling mad right now; he should have found out by this time that I’m not in my room. My mind is swirling with plans for when I get off the bus in beautiful California. I ease into a dream, soothed by the humming of the bass of my music.
~
A tap on my shoulder yanks me out of my sleep. A little boy with shaggy brown hair is standing in the aisle next to my seat. He holds a child's camera in his tiny hands.
“We're at a rest stop, mister,” he blurts out. “Can I take your picture, mister? Please? I want to remember every part of this trip.” His cute voice has a slight lisp that makes me chuckle a little.
“Sure kid. Make sure you get my good side.” I sit up straight and give the boy my best smile, the one I normally save for when I have to appear with my father. The flash leaves dots in my vision as the boy trots away to his mother outside the bus. I look around, seeing that I am the only one left on the bus. Gathering up my shoulder bag, I step off the bus.
The sun stings my eyes as it bounces off the white concrete of the sidewalk. I take in my surroundings. A McDonald's, a Burger King and a diner with a sign declaring “The Tumbleweed Bar and Grill: Open 24 Hours.” A gaggle of children run through the parking lot, screaming and yelling, their parents close on their tails. Two men are hanging out by the one-story dilapidated motel. They both are wearing coats, one pale red and the other faded black. That's odd, its too hot out for heavy coats. The taller man with the red coat is twirling his red top hat in his hand as he puffs on a cigar. My eyes lock with his for an instant. A look of recognition crosses his face.
For some reason unknown to me, a feeling of panic overwhelms me. Find a bathroom. Must throw up. Bolting to the Burger King, I rush through the bathroom door to the last stall. My knees buckle in front of the toilet as I heave out last night's dinner. The bathroom door opens and someone flicks off the overhead lights.
“Hey! Turn that back on! I'm in here, damn it!” Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I unlatch the stall door only to confront the strange man from earlier. He stinks of cheap cologne. In his hand is a damp rag. He cracks a smile just before he presses the rag to my face.
~
That wretched cologne enters my mind again. The man in the red top hat is sitting in front of me, sipping a beer. Why is his top hat red? Red seems to be such a silly color for a top hat.
“I just want to go home.” I groan and my stomach does acrobatics. He laughs and then lunges at me suddenly, dropping his beer.
“You should have listened to your father, boy, and stayed home.” His voice is higher pitched than I would have imagined it. It had a maniacal quality that cause my to ears prickle. I see the glint of the small knife in his left hand just before he plunges it into my ribs. A cold, slippery feeling rushes up my spine into the base of my neck. Cold, so very cold. A children’s lullaby plays over and over in my head. The man pushes over my chair. I can see the rain hitting the window. Somehow, it comforts me. Sleep, he says, just sleep.
~
Tears stream down my face. I can't do this much longer. I don't want to give up. Maybe if I hold on one more hour my father will find me. My left arm is burning. Something squishy and warm flows down my face. I slit my eyes open just a bit. White cloth. It feels soft against my skin. I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. It's not there.
Comments
If you want to read some of my old crappy poetry:
http://vampirefreaks.com/members/BritA7Xmetalhead/Poetry