Sold To The Dun Boy • Joshler SHORT STORY

1

He was shaking. He tried his best to focus on the task at hand. He tried to make sure that every speck of powder, the right amount, got inside the bag. It was hard to breathe, he could barely do it. He thought the mask placed over his mouth would help, but it was cheap, his father was a cheapskate.

He didn't care whether the young boy got addicted to the powder that he worked with, so when it was poured to roughly, it managed to poof a cloud and some managed to get through the mask and eventually would get a little dizzy.

He coughed a couple times, eyes watering over as he tried all his best to get the coke poured into the small bags. He set the bag on the measuring table to make sure it was the right amount before placing it in a box, readying it for shipment. 

It was cold in the underground lab, he could hear his father's footsteps, but what caught his attention was the others that followed. He knew he shouldn't, but for a few seconds, he stopped his work, fixing his boxers from where he had sat for too long and listened to the voices.

The voices were dull, Tyler couldn't understand a damn thing. He couldn't point out their topic, whether these were house guest or people with business. Carefully, with the pain in his legs, thighs back and chest, he moved out if the chair, walking around.

Pins and needles were striking at his lower body, and he hissed, almost fell over but regained himself. "Cmon Chris, I don't have time to play your stupid games. We need ten boxes out by tonight and you're telling me you only have half of them done? What do you think we are paying you for!" The voice upstairs rang.

"Dad's getting paid?" Tyler whispered to himself. He was the one slaving away down here, and he hasn't seen a dime. I mean he could say that his father still pays for him to have food and water and his phone, but his father didn't do anything. He only showed Tyler how to make and bag and sell. And that was it, he had been out of the picture since.

A grunting sound made him come back to reality. Followed by another and then another. He was looking at the stone wall, using his hearing to understand what was happening. He heard more grunts, a few pleads and realized his father was getting hurt.

Stay in the basement. No matter what. Tyler told himself. But he couldn't, even though that person upstairs had taken care of him until he was put on a bench, dealing with illegal drugs, it was still his father. "Please, stop. I swear, I'll have it ready by ten. I'll even do it myself," he heard his father beg.

"Do it yourself? I thought that is what you've been doing? Who's doing your dirty work, Chris?" The footsteps started moving around again and Tyler began trembling as it was nearing close to the door. Tyler looked around to see where he could hide but it was an open room. There was nowhere to go.

The person on the other side tried to open the door, but nothing. The door was locked from Tyler's side. His legs began shaking as he looked around this time for a weapon, anything to protect himself. "OPEN UP!" 

The voice said and Tyler grabbed a scalpel. It was on instinct, he began creeping to the door, the grip on the scalpel getting harder. He began unlocking the door, had his hand on the handle, and when he swung it open, his hand went swinging towards the man on the other side.

Instead of stabbing the scalpel into the man's neck, he fell over from missing, the ball of a palm made contact with his nose, and he was hit in the back of the head, instantly knocked out into the floor.