This is an old story I began a long time ago. It is a first draft, and very rough, and I dropped it because I had no idea where I was going with it, which is an unusual approach for me. It’s fairly long, so I think I will break it up into several posts. Just be warned that it is dark and graphic and contains some sexual content. Some people may not feel comfortable with the content, another reason why I dropped it. It gets a little weird… See the FAY Index page for a chronological list of posts and their shortlinks: http://wp.me/P2DnTA-ko
An immense throbbing generates from the solid numbness in my thigh. It is not quite a pain, yet still, it awakens me from unconsciousness. The entire area feels awkwardly large and I look down to see that the wound has been dressed, remembering the sound of the gunshot and guessing that I must have passed out at the sight of the blood. I have never been able to withstand the sight of blood.
When I was a child, I had been in a terrible car accident with my mother. The details of the accident are still beyond me, as I hadn’t been informed, too young they gathered, or too traumatized. Upon my release from the “observatory,” and ever since then, I have never wanted to know how it happened.
I was a small boy at the age of five, so when the tumbling of the car had ceased, I was tucked within, completely and miraculously unharmed. I was able to crawl out from the wreckage, discovering the route to be all too slippery to make it simple, only to find as I stood on solid ground, that I was drenched with the thick blood of my mother, whose head was propped upon the double lines of the road, staring directly into my eyes.
Her mouth said something to me. I couldn’t understand what. But to this day I know my mother’s head spoke to me, no matter how many doctor’s have told me otherwise. When I had looked into her eyes that final time before the whining of sirens hollered in the distance, I saw death…or something. It was as if she displayed it for me, to show me where she was going. It wasn’t peaceful at all, however. Instead, what I saw was such a blackness, inside which shadows were born of themselves. It was an abyss that sucked mind and soul like a vacuum into infinite imprisonment. I didn’t think it was hell, although since I was raised Catholic, one would assume that would be my first guess, but rather, I know it was something else, something worse than what hell could ever be, because unlike the mythical underworld, this was a reality, and my mother’s head projected it before me, forcing me to confront it.
Three years had passed before I was able to speak. To this day, when my nerves take their bearings, I am all too likely to stutter. As well, I try to avoid any prolonged eye contact at all costs.
I slip into remembrances now and again, my thoughts leading me astray for various lenghts of time. A sharp pain in my leg brings me back. The sound of the gunshot flashes through my memory.
I realize I am naked and tied to a chair. It is cold here. Dark and damp. I sneeze, which must have startled something, for I hear it, or possibly them, scurry. Of course, I see now the moonlight from the high barred window reflecting from their eyes like little gems. They are rats. Peeking out at me. Sensing the flesh and blood of my wound, and probably hungry…
…to be continued…