Rewrite of my story Captured

KridesBrideBritt · September 2010

So I have to turn in a story for Creative Writing so I chose the story I posted on here before. I just had to turn in a minimum of 10pg so I had to write at least 4 more pgs. Here's the original. http://mayhemforums.vanillaforums.com/discussion/1732/captured-a-short-story-of-mine/#Item_29

If you could read the new one and let me know what you think....PLEASE.

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.
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. The man grabs my arm and I try to pull away but I can’t muster the strength. 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.
“Do you know why you’re here Jason?” The man in the red top hat whispers in my ear, his breath hot and disgusting. His voice is higher pitched than I would have imagined it. It had a maniacal quality that cause my to ears prickle.
“I’m guessing it has something to do with my father.” I cough up mucus and try to close my eyes but the man’s rough hand comes to my face.
“That’s right. Smart boy. Hopefully you’re smarter than your father. You better hope he loves you more than he loves his reputation.” His face is so close I can count the amount of freckles on his nose. He doesn’t look to scary with the gap between his two
front teeth. Not too scary, until I look into his eyes. My breath catches in my throat.
“No.”
“Yes, Jason. Look into my eyes. They should look quite familiar to you.”
I can’t help it. I start to cry. I know I should be strong, but with no one here but him, all my hope is wasted, wasted on the hope that this strange man with the red top hat would hold some sort of sympathy for someone with such a strong connection with him.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault. I was just a child.” I sob. “I’m still just a child.”
“I know. It was never your fault. I will always be the outcast and you will always be the favorite.” He grabs my arm, straining it against the wire, drawling blood. His eyes fixate on the thick, warm liquid swirling with commonalities.
“I’m not his favorite. He is his only favorite.”
“I don’t care. I have to blame someone. You just made it so easy. You are spoiled and so fortunate and you don‘t even realize it. You have everything I should have had.” He sticks another needle in my arm and I go limp.
~
I am on a carousel, riding the lion. The smell of popcorn evades the air. As the carousel spins, my eyes are fixed on my father. He is smiling, buying me a big blue poof of cotton candy. He is dressed in a light green flannel shirt and pressed brown corduroy jeans. His is laughing at my laughter. His hair has not yet grayed, his eyes still glitter when he looks at me.
I try to wave at him but his attention is taken by a lanky teenage boy in a bright red coat. I can see the boy shouting at my father, his demeanor showing signs of pleading.
My father keeps on shaking his head, moving backwards, only to be stopped by a fence. I hop off of the carousel, much to the protest of the operator, who yells at me that I will get hurt.. As I reach my father, he is pressing a large amount of cash into the boy’s hands. I look up at the boy. His brown eyes are filled with tears. He takes one glance at me and bursts out laughing like a clown gone mad. The boy bends down to the ground and holds out his hand to me. I grab his hand.
“What’s your name, little one?”
“Jason.”
“Nice to meet you Jason.” The boy smiles at me, but even at my young age, I can tell that the smile is forced. My father grabs me roughly by the shoulder and guides me away from the boy.
“Daddy, who is he?”
“No one, Jason. No one.”
~
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.
~
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, Jason? 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 my head perfectly.
The willow tree begins to sway as the birds chirping above me shift their gazes in my direction. An unsettling breeze scatters all the previously hidden butterflies from the willow tree as lightning flashes and the sky turns an ominous blood red. A haunting curiosity grips me and I inch closer to the base of the willow. Within the bark, a scene of despair is unfolding. Bile wrenches upwards as I look upon the severed bodies of the birds lying at the base of the willow, struck down by some unnatural force. The smell is the worst. Charring, burning flesh and feathers. The breeze becomes stronger, whipping the stench of death around me. I quiver in fear, knowing that once something is touched by the stench of death and decay, everything is destroyed, changed forever, leaving a barren, rotten pathway behind. Slowly, without a sound, I try to creep backwards out of the odor’s hold.
“I am just an observer.” I say carefully under my breath; hoping not to bring
attention to myself.
Firelight catches my glance. Dancing flames consume the clouds, tethered to the heavens. They reach down toward me, drawling me into its embrace. Crimson shadows surround me, entering my eyes and mouth. The shadows expel ashes from within me and I collapse under the shade of the willow, my hat rolling off my head.
“It’s not your time yet.” A voice echoes in my head. “But soon.”
The flame-filled cloud abandons me, moving onto its next victim, reclaiming the hat, leaving me drained of all my strength.

KridesBrideBritt · September 2010

~
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 as hell in the end.
“Jason? 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, Jason, 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.
“Jason! 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.
~
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.” 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. It reminds me of the carousel. The man pushes over my chair. I can see the rain hitting the window. Somehow, it comforts me.
“Sleep,” says an old man’s voice. “Just sleep.”
A flash illuminates the room and I hear a sigh.
~
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, thick and warm flows down my side. 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.

KridesBrideBritt · September 2010

~
I open my eyes and I find myself floating, floating toward a place whitened by a bright light. My eyes adjust as I am comforted by a sense of peace and clarity. I am greeted by the most complete place I could ever conjure. Black roses are blooming in fields, water is flowing upwards through cracks in the ground, saturating my bare feet. Beauty is everywhere, unfaltering and ever moving. The sky mirrors the water, the purest cerulean blue I have ever encountered. A light chill surrounds my skin as I am blanketed by a silk lilac robe, pulsating with warmth as if it were alive.
I gingerly make my way along the water flowing in the ground, a distant hum getting louder as if it were guiding me toward the source. I feel safe here. I am faced with a waterfall, partially covered by green vines hiding what seems to be a cave. I feel compelled to go through the vines, an urge planted within my mind. My fingers tingle as I brush the leaves apart and enter a brightly lit cave filled with stalagmites and stalactites. Sitting near the center of the cave on roughly hewn stone chair is an old man with white hair brushing the floor. He is beardless and his eyes are black, like his robes. In front of him is a basin made of the same stone in which he sat. As if he heard my footsteps, he motions for me to sit across from him.
“Welcome Jason.” His voice is the voice I heard in my mind earlier when I was told to sleep.
“Am I dead?” I say as I sit on the ground.
“What do you think, boy?” He black eyes are still but staring straight at me. I am unsure if he can really see like the rest of humans. He smiles and waits for my answer.
“I guess so. This sucks.” I look down at my hands. They are clean, bloodless. Even my side feels healed, as if I had never gotten a knife stabbed in my side.
“It’s not so bad here.” The old man laughs and causes goosebumps to form on the back of my neck. “Look into the basin.”
I gaze into the stone bowl as it fills with some sort of liquid, swirling around with a wide gradient of colors. Green, blue, purple, orange. It settles on the image of a room I hadn’t been allowed in since I was twelve. My father’s office is made almost completely mahogany. His curtains were drawn, little light escaping through the pine green silk. At his desk, sat my father. His head is in his hands, propped up on his desk. I found this to be odd. He always yells at my sister and I if we put our elbows on any table or desk, he called it the lazy way of thinking. His hands are shaking. In front of him are two pictures. The first one I am used to seeing in it’s frame. It is of my father and I. I am around six years old. We are at the park. My dad is laughing and he has his arm around me. I have a green and yellow stuffed animal dinosaur in my little hands. The same dinosaur is still lounging on the shelf above my bed. The picture next to the one of my father and I is more recent. It is of me, tied to the chair by wire, covered in blood. There is a sticky note attached to the white Polaroid strip. It says in small handwriting: “You should never have
taken my chance of having a father from me.”
I can see the phone ringing at my father’s desk. He ignores it and picks up the bloody picture of me. I reach out to try to touch my father, but as my fingers graze the water, the image disappears.
“He’s in another world now, boy. You can’t contact him.” The old man picks up the stone bowl and places it next to him, out of my reach.
“But I want him to know that I’m okay.”
“You can’t. He must deal with your death his own way.” The old man stands up and extends his withering hand to me. I can’t take it. I cry with my whole boy.
“Daddy.” I scream and send a host of bats swirling off of the roof of the cave. “Daddy. Daddy.”