TRAPPED
I hated walking home alone, especially at night. The howling wind that normally filled the dreary London scene was absent today, something wasn’t right. I can feel it in my bones.
As I walked down the claustrophobic streets the only sound to be heard was the excruciatingly loud thuds of my Nike trainers slapping down onto concrete. The grey narrow streets are potent with the smell of decaying waste as I passed a lamppost which seemed to be struggling to provide its scarce putrid yellow glow, an all too familiar feeling of being watched rose inside me.
And to confirm my suspicions I heard a second set of footsteps brake the silence behind me. My heart beat rapidly increased as I heard the second set of footsteps is joined by four more. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead as I concentrated on trying to keep as steady pace to make sure that they don’t sense my growing unease.
I turned the corner and walked down the ally behind my house, hoping to have lost them. I waited for a second before searching for my keys, just to make sure they hadn’t followed me. All seemed quiet.
Deciding to blame the paranoia for my reaction I carried on trying to steady my shaking hands long enough to fit the key in the lock. My hot breath was just starting to fog up the glass in the door when a rough sweaty hand covered my mouth and clumsily pulled me back. The man who grabbed me threw me too the ground. The fall knocked all the wind out of me and the adrenaline pulsing through my veins was the only reason I managed to fumble to my feet.
The man who was cloaked head to toe in black was joined by two others who started slowly closing in on me until my back was pressed up against the cold forbidding concrete wall. They appeared to tower over my boyish frame. The man in the middle stared down at me with small, squinting blue eyes that seemed to bore holes into mine that were so deep I wouldn’t be surprised if he could see into my soul.
He leaned down so that his stubbly face was inches from mine, his breath reeking of a sickeningly sweet odour that nauseated me. “Lights out little man” he grumbled aggressively.
“Please...don’t hurt me! I’m too young to die...” I begin to whisper in a shaky voice that is already cracking with fear. “Shut up or yall gonna regret it!” screams the guy to the right in an equally terrifying voice only Texan. The next few moments are such a blur I couldn’t even comprehend what happened until much later.
A scratchy burlap sack was forced over my head as the men lifted me up and literally chucked me in the bag. I began to panic and started lashing out feverishly. My arms and legs kicking and punching the air outside. I was soon stopped by hit to the head that seemed to have hit come from a baseball bat. The kicking stopped immediately as world began to spin before my very eyes; a very bumptious thumping in the side of my head is making it hard to focus.
I lifted my now grazed hand from the irritating cloth to the corner of my head and slightly poke and probe the wound. As I bring my hand now I can feel the wetness that is now making a constant trickle down my face. The humid air and the metallic smell of blood make me feel spineless and weak. I am Trapped! My mind screams at me but I immediately push the thought down. I can’t be trapped? Can I? I think helplessly.
Suddenly I’m thrown into what seems like a van and I hear the unforgivable echo of the doors slamming shut. The fear rises through me providing another wave of adrenaline and sending a cold chill down my spine. I frantically look for a weak point in the burlap sack and start clawing away at it without thinking, I manage to make a hole. But it’s useless, my attempts are pathetic since the man drags me out of the sac anyway and injects a syringe full of bright magenta liquid into my arm.
Immediately a raging fire seems to have broken out in my veins. I squirm on the floor, screaming in pain. I dig my fingernails into the rotting wood of the van floor in agony as the inferno raging in my arteries spread throughout my entire system, paralyzing me to the spot. The fires soon turn to ice which seems to sear slowly through my entire being and at an agonizingly slow rate my veins turn to ice. The men stop the truck and throw me out onto the street outside my house once again.
I find the dirt laden, gravely concrete floor beneath me. The constant flow of blood from my head making it hard to stay awake is now joined by a disturbingly fast stream of blood coming from my arm. The syrum has me completely paralyzed now and my heart seems to be slowing to an almost non existent pulse. I can’t even scream as the syrum has taken away my voice. All I could do was close my increasingly heavy eyes and wait with silent tears for someone to help me...
20 year later
I stare out the open Tudor window of my care home. The sunset ablaze with breathtaking colours of amber laced with crimson and peach. I look around the decaying room, a simple wooden bed and one full sized mirror occupy the room. No belongings or even decoration. The overly cheerful yellow walls seem somewhat forced.
The nurse came to wheel me over to the mirror. The story of that poor, unfortunate boy of only 12 still rings clear in my mind. That was the heart wrenching story of little Jack Williams. I remember his little glowing face with lovely kind eyes that were a dazzling dark green, as if the beauty of the Amazon rain forest was painted in those eyes. Jacks hair was sandy blond that was always so soft and well kept as it always swooped across his head, he was not the tallest boy but definitely the most kind hearted and had the most purest innocence anyone had every seen.
That was until the attack. I look in front of me and see the poor boy himself in a wheelchair just like mine. He is old and greying, all light is lost in his eyes. Paralyzed. There is neither fat nor muscle anywhere in his body. He looks crazed and deformed a damaged shell of what used to be the sweetest child.
I realise that I am looking in the mirror, and that boy is me. I am the remains of that sweet child. I’m not really him. I haven’t been for the longest time. If he thought that night that he knew what it felt to be trapped then he was wrong
Terribly wrong
For twenty years I have been stuck in this rotting shell of a body... not being able to move or even speak. Only my mind wide awake and functioning perfectly. It feels like the worst torture you could inflict, like you’re not actually living but watching others live.
Spectating.
I can’t even speak my mind, my heart aches with the weight of 20 years of loneliness and misery. I also feel empty and hollow inside, like existence has eaten the life out of me from the inside out.
I am truly trapped.
And all I can do is the same thing Jack did that night lying on the concrete floor. Let the silent streams of tears wash down my face and close my eyes hoping for an end to this horror...
And sure enough the reflection in the mirror has a tear trickling down his cheek.
This is the end of the story! told you it was short! please comment below any critisism or praise will be taken into account as this is just a sample story and im not sure if im good enough to make longer ones
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