Peculiar (Under Editing)

~Chapter One~

There was no light to wake up to. The darkness of he closet still remained. I rolled my head around, the drowsiness seeping in with its chilling fingers. My head hurt, my legs felt stiff, and my eyes were as heavy as rocks. I few feeble coughs escaped my lips. My voice was raspy. Already, thoughts swarmed my head like a neverending pounding of rain. Questions like: Why was I still here? Why wasn't I in a police car, on my way to a prison? Why wasn't I locked up, behind bars? I shook my head, desperately trying to clear them. But all I managed was to shove them in the back of my mind...I wasn't much help. I cocked my head, hearing the familiar popping sound. I may not be able to clear my thoughts, but I can certainly look put-together, even if I was a mess.
     I raised my hand and placed loose fingers on the door, pushing slightly. The doors hardly budged. It was locked. They locked me in here. I gave a long, breathy sigh, defeated. What an embarrassment. Someone with the experience of nine-hundred plus years was felled by two teenage boys. I groaned, trying to push the last bits of pain from my head. What did they even hit me with? It felt like they threw an entire cliff face at me. I pushed harder towards the door, testing the locks abilities. It was firm, unmoving. I could break it if I had full strength, which was the exact opposite of what I felt right now.
     I didn't want to risk calling out, as someone might hear me. I had no idea what time it was; who could be home? Did the parents work? I gently leaned my head against the closet door, trying to listen to any movement. Nothing. The house was dead silent. Everyone must be gone. I gave a heavy, slow laugh. I never should have come, this was a mistake. I was about to ask myself why I was here, but then remembered I had already done that to no avail. I couldn't leave now, not after I was just whacked on the head... I still felt dizzy. I would have to wait till I was strong enough to break the lock. , then I could make my escape. It should be easy then. I heard my stomach rumble under the screaming of my thoughts. It reminded me I haven't eaten in three days. Typically I would eat two meals every two days; a two for two. But my meals were cut short when I was seen yesterday. While the people here weren't the best, the food was delightful. The mere thought of eggs and bacon made my mouth water.
    I pushed away the thought before my stomach ate me alive, and tried to plan what I would do until my strength was returned. I forced my mind to slow, shoving all the thoughts to the back of my mind. Those were all problems I could deal with later.
    In honesty, I should sleep. It would pass the time quicker, and regain strength faster, a win-win. Another perfect plan. Self-consciously, I gave a faint smile. I leaned my head against the closet door, adjusting until it was comfortable. I then wrapped my arms around my stomach and raised one leg just high enough for my foot to be flat on the ground. With some final shifting around, I settled to a bearable position. With that, I closed my eyes, and then...
    Sleep.

A bang on the door startled me awake. I raised my head, my groggy eyes creaking open. What? What happened? How long did I sleep? What time was it? Did anyone get home? I couldn't stop the barrage of questions.
    After a few moments, I heard voices in the distance, perhaps across the house. I couldn't make them out. The mumblings stopped, and a much closer, dominant voice took over.
"She's in here, completely secured." The voice said.
It was light, not high enough for a female voice but not low enough for a man's. It must be one of the boys. Have they told their parents? Or was it the police they were talking to? I didn't want to say anything; I didn't need to say anything. Waiting for a few moments, there was no reply from the boy's voice. He must have gone. The mumblings were still present. I could only guess what - I should say who - they were talking about. I lifted my hands and rubbed my face, forcing myself awake. The mumblings inched closer, allowing me to make out a few words and phrases.
"The police... called...soon."
"Now... wait."
"Who called?"
"It...me." That was the same voice as earlier.
"Right choice...good...son."
"Thanks."
The mumblings ceased, and all was silent again. But footsteps soon replaced them, and they were getting closer. Were they coming for me? Are they gonna take me away? Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the door.
"The police have been called," it said, "you will remain in that closet. The door is locked with a chain and a bike lock. It's impossible to break, so there's no point in trying. Don't even try to escape. You will pay for what you tried to do to my son."
So it was the father. I made a mental note of his voice, so I could identify it later. I hit my head on the back wall. Then hit it again. And again. And again.
What went wrong in my life? All I could do now was wait and hope. But the word hope stuck in my mind. I tried to push it away, like I did any other thought, but this one refused to budge. But then, it lead me to an idea. What if I used the cops to escape? If I was to be arrested, then I would have to be taken outside to their police car. That could grant me escape, but what about witnesses? The family will clearly be watching from some window. I would have to take them down to if I didn't want any witnesses.
Nothing's ever easy, is it? I thought to myself.
As time went on, longer and longer, my mind started to dull. Once again, exhaustion seeped into my eyes, sly as a fox. The hope wanted to turn tail and run. But I held on to it, my grip tight but unsure. Maybe that's what got me into this mess in the first place. Well, that and my lack of human interaction. The moment I placed my foot on that window sill my fate was sealed. I recalled wiping the sweat from my palms, bringing back the nervous feeling I felt first entering the house. I was so focused on myself, my unsureness, my insecurities, that I didn't think of getting what I needed done. When the time came, I hesitated. Part of me regretted that moment; if I had brought that dagger down, I would be miles from this town by now. But instead, I'm here, facing my consequences. I guess I deserved this; this was my punishment.
     Is this was war does to you? Vivid memories started to rush back in front of my eyes. I've never told anyone about the war. I never wanted to speak about it again. It tore my mind apart. It tore me apart. I did my best to push back the memories, but their phantoms still haunted me. It seems like the Universe can't hold itself together anymore. I think it needs someone to blame, and almost always, it turns out to be you. I'm not talking about the war, not now, not here, it would break me. They would open a closet to find the crying mess of sin and skin I already am. How pathetic would that be?