Albino Child

Fourteen

"I accept." I replied bluntly, there was little point struggling for a lost cause, I knew that he would have tortured me just like the times here where I would do petty actions just to rebel against the exact orders from the higher ups, the consequences were never worth the price I paid- I recalled with much clarity a futile event that resulted in the embedding of iron needles, they were inserted far into the flesh and the thread attached to the article were doused in gasoline, the yarn was then set alight and the organic parts burnt internally- this also meant that I would be once again placed upon a medical table and be a specimen to be tested on- those days were long over but the glint in his malicious eyes told me otherwise, he was practically hollering many horrible actions he would trespass onto me if I dared disagree with him, I had to show utmost obedience for his command, while I did regret it mildly, I feared as to what he would do to the others- I had a feeling that made me feel it was not only mere interrogation- I could taste the bitter fumes of his vile desires emanate from the perverse fire of his sunken, steep, deep-set hollows, he had unpleasant plans that I could not divert, I scrunched up my fists and cut crescents into my clammy palms- I was frustrated by my lack of intervention, I was unable to help the few that survived, the three of us were going to be dead meat just like the fourth of the remaining who cut herself off a while back, that sick, selfish and sinful lamb.

My voice resonated in pulses, the flat sound battering the walls with its cold clarity, it knocks over the formal, neutral state of the other people as they look surprised at my malleable comprimisable state, they were not expecting such ease- judging by their raised eyebrows, creased foreheads and the God's obnoxious, grunting chuckles that poured out of his rubbery lips, he really could not stop giggling, perhaps he was hoping for a fight, some kind of move that could give him the fateful opportunity to wallow in his sadistic hobbies- the God then proceeded to indicate the boys to let loose the hostage, waving his hand and nodding at the grunts, he left the room with his brown leather shoes clicking down the hallway and as it faded out, I could hear an almost inaudible sigh as the boys rested a few moments before helping me be loose; my wrists and then forearms had the cuffs removed first, I rotated the hypermobile joints and loosened the synovial fluid sac that had been stiffened with jolts of electricity, they were tight and sore as I flexed my muscles that resided deep under the skin- the skin around the pleather restraints were irritated, lumps had appeared upon the skin, alongside many rashes- I groaned at the disfigured appearance and sat upright once the majority of the buckles were removed, I mumbled some profanity after the shut-eyed boy accidently fell over his long clothes and onto my pained arm, using my other limb, I reached for one of his eyelids, pulling it up tentatively, he did not bat my arm away in disarray however, merely hunched over as still as a painted figure, it revealed empty sockets just as I had thought it would- why else would he not have opened his eyes; I stared into the inky abyss, it was a rather strange sight, strings of saliva-like fluid webbed the cave, they streamed vertically with a few at angles that did not follow the trend, the threads that were like gossamer, shimmering in the light and dew-like drops beading the entirety of the chain, it was a spectacular yet grotesque sight, I let go of eyelid and watched the capillaries glue themselves back onto one-another. The boy then walked a step closer, with a vulnerable expression plastered onto his pasty skin, I let him trespass into my personal space, he did not touch me though- not a slap due to my unwanted palpating nor a pinch in fascination of my father-like position- he merely began to fish inside my pockets, as if he was searching for something that would be beneficial, he made haste as he grew gradually frustrated by the lack of results.

"What are you looking for," I mumbled, my voice a wisp against the harsh clattering of the removal of artificial pleather and iron buckles, "I can help you, I assure you of this."

"Les yeux," he replied humbly, his voice was rich and melodious- it filled the chamber with deep plums and rouges temporarily, for he fell silent soon after his request, "Les yeux, s'il vous plait."

"Oh, so the eyes belong to you," I began, my voice trailing off as I wondered as to why such objects were to be found in my drink prior to today, "Why were they in my drink..."

My rhetorical questioning was replied by him, "You do not know yet but it will make sense soon enough."

"I certainly hope so" I responded curtly, I was desperate for some answers, I needed to know what he was going to do, did he even know that one of the people he wants is dead, he surely knew, he is not that stupid is he? Of course not, he, after all is the God, the creator and the destroyer, the reason and the question- he is a walking contradiction yet he is also true harmony, knows all yet seems empty, he is truly the epitome of evil yet he claims to do actions for the greater benefit, he should die yet he lives, he is old yet looks young, he is everything opposite yet together- he was my life and my death too, and for many people also; he was a true force that should be eradicated, he, just being a mere mortal, needed to die, the erasing of his plans were necessary- he was just too great a force, the world could not handle the amount of destruction he would undergo just to set his ideas in motion, he would never set for the place any lower that the best, he strived for perfection but unlike me, he saw no boundaries nor any wrong within his methods, he was a sociopath; when I was just visiting, before I became apart of the permanent member of this facility, I could remember when I really looked up to him and wished I could be like him, God was my idol but what I did not realise that this God was really just the Devil in disguise- changing a name has truthfully does not change the meaning but it does change the connotations- he would tell me one of my favourite stories, we would call it the 'Lieblings-Gott'- I had no understanding as to what it meant but it sounded important, the child me had no realising that this was the grooming to make believe his as being the centre of the world, for it truly meant 'Favourite God', the beginnings of the ideology that he was the Truth, the God, the End- the story was not exactly pleasant but there were too many words that I had no understanding of so I never realised the meaning behind the fable, I was innocent and childish and knowing words such as 'necromancy' or 'mutilation', however, he made me repeat it so I could tell people later in life. Many times over, I would repeat the tale to myself, anywhere: in the empty break-times of school, during the mundane chores of home and even through the church-services I attended every Sunday, it was only after my mother became frightened by my repetitive talking that she began to realise what I was trying to say; I could easily replay that incident, seeing it project into my mind I visualised my mother's tearing face- bloodshot eyes and foul crinkling of her face- she shook me violently as she wailed many questions, I could not exactly understand what she was saying but she soon realised this after my blank ashamed face, she finally calmed down to a pace that was unstable but could be understood by my underdeveloped brain.

"Who told you all of this?" "Uncle did" "When?" "When you are not around, he told me to remember this and to tell my children when that time comes round." Don't, you'll kill yourself once you understand. Never repeat it, not to me, not to your father and certainly not to anyone else."

We did not speak, I was allowed to watch cartoons in the living room, the door was locked and I was alone- no-one in the room except for frugal, tasteless, minimalistic furniture, the television and a pale blue water bottle that I still own to this day- I could hear shouting from the kitchen, I turned up the volume louder and louder to drown out the ugly noise, they were clearly arguing, I could sense much tension building up as they rallied ranting, their voices breaking into flavourless destruction, it all hit a point in which there was a hard crack- a slap- my father had hit my mother; my father, realising what he had done and noticing that I could see through the keyhole fled the scene to the master bedroom.

That was the last time I ever saw my fake father alive.