The rain drops trickled down the transparent wall of glass before him. Like an endless shower, the boy watched his day of joy for the sun be cast aside by the black clouds in the sky. He wanted to see his friends, feel the free air, to feel free. Instead he was stuck inside, caged.
At his home he could, the boy’s imagination could run wild if a rainy day occurred. But home was nowhere near.
Mom would be there, in the kitchen, piddling with something. Saturday’s were her day off, which in turn meant she would be busy cleaning and tending to the house. Once she finished, she’d ask the boy if he was hungry or if he needed anything before heading to her room to watch TV.
Dad would be out somewhere on a Saturday, probably fishing. He’d ask the boy every Saturday if he would go with him, and every Saturday the boy would shake his head side-to-side. Fishing wasn’t quite the boy’s cup of tea.
Saturday to the boy was the best day of the week. It was the day he could go about according to his plans. Monday through Friday school stole the opportunity and Sunday was plagued by having to go with his parents to church. Neither were interests for the boy, but he did them anyways. Saturday though was a day not to be trifled with, and rain or shine could not hold the boy back from being free to choose how to go about his day.
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But chains could.
Broken bones could.
The pounding in his head could.
His weak and exhausted body telling him to let go could.
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The boy had no how’s or why’s for the reasoning of his imprisonment. The boy just watched the world past 7 days of pain through the window in the empty room. It was last Saturday that the boy was taken. How he wished he had taken his father’s offer instead of taking someone else’s. To help a person is the act of doing something good, at least that’s what the boy always thought. Helping a stranger who seemed to need it was the last thing the boy remembered before waking up in the room with only a window.
The boy had been out in the woods nearby his neighborhood when he heard cries for help deep in the distance. Curiosity stole the boy’s control over his feet. A minute or so walking toward the cries, the boy found a small box dangling from a tree that had the PLAY button pressed down. And that was it.
The boy wished that Mom and Dad would come through the white door of the gray room and free him from the chains bound to his wrists. He wished that they would come carry him out and take him to a hospital to make his broken and bloodied legs back to the way they once were. He wished he didn’t have sit in excrement and body fluids for another day. He wished above all that this Saturday was like any other; a day where he could make it his way. But the pain, the chains, and the blood stains told him the reality. Saturday is not your day to be free, it’s another day of misery. Another day in hell. The only thing the boy managed to relate to from his days of church was the interpretation of hell. But why?
What action had the boy done to deserve this?
Nothing.
Not one single murmur within his mind.
The lightning in the sky flashed and shook the room again. Night was falling, and darkness was cascading over the room. The fear of the dark had never been a problem for the boy, but the past 7 days had told him otherwise. He rather stare at a world where he could never go instead of stare at blackness that for tonight only was illuminated by the lightning in the sky.
To add to the adoption of fearing the dark, the boy’s senses were beginning to wither away. Sight remained prevalent but speech became nonexistence. The first two days in the room consisted of constant calls for help and screams that were never answered. As for the boy’s hearing that too ceased to exist. Price for yelling came with a irrevocable punishing noise that released in the room. It was as if someone began drilling a screw into his ear and pulled it in and out just for good measure. The last day the boy heard the ear-splitting sound was yesterday. And that was the last day he heard anything at all. Touch too was starting to diminish as the pain that the boy had been inflicted with announced itself louder than any other feeling. Other than the fact that the boys legs were shattered and blood lay dry from several of his orifices, the pain that screamed the loudest was the cut the boy felt on the back of his head that continued to emit throbbing.
Will there be a tomorrow?
How long can a body last?
Fear of starvation or dehydration were neither a concern to the boy. Every time he slipped to sleep—no matter how hard he try to stay awake—a glass of water and crackers would be before him upon waking up. The price for eating and drinking came with trying to find where it should go. His legs COULD NOT move, no matter how hard he tried, the smallest nudge the boy tried to make was futile. And to move was even worse. Even though the boy could not wiggle his toes, he could feel the subtle movements he attempted to make to remove his jeans. On a pain scale of ten, it was eleven, thus the reasoning for why the only place to go was on his self. Day 2 was the day the boy chose to release.
Release…
If the boy could have released anything in the world by his own will, he would have chosen truth. It was a simple thing, one that most took for granted. The truth would have been to his best Karen. The boy would have told his childhood friend since he had been a toddler that he loved her.
Parents tell their children that love is something they’ll understand when they get older. But what is age though. For the boy, seven days had made him older. It had made him realize what was most precious to him. He loved his parents but that was unconditional and something that he was accustom to. Realizing his love for Karen came with a dream; whether the boy was asleep to see it is irrelevant.
The dream’s setting took place back last year for the boy’s tenth birthday. A laser tag fun place was the location and his parents had arranged for some friends to join along. One of them was Karen. It was this instance that the boy began loving her even though it was only now in this room that he had truly seen it. Hiding in the laser tag area with her, fighting against the others with invisible red lasers, the boy was going to do anything to make sure neither were shot. He wanted to protect Karen—to show her he could. Why? Because she was a girl? No, he just wanted to. And as the boy gave a valiant effort, it all ended in vain when that device on his chest began blinking wildly.
“Got you,” her soft voice spoke conceitedly.
She shot him. Why? Because it was her way of telling him she didn’t need to protected.
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He did. He needed protection more than anything.
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As his jaw dropped because of her action, the boy could only muster a smile in response. A smile that would reverberate later on when she would leave once her parents picked her up.
“Hope you had a happy birthday lame-o,” she said wrapping her fair arms around him, “next time just have me do the shooting and protecting.” He smiled widely and then broke into a laugh with her. “But seriously doofus, if you care so much to protect little ol’ me from all those lasers then I suppose a little hero such as you can be pretty cool to have,” Karen chatted, placing a quick peck on his cheek. Before he could ask what that was for, while blushing a light shade of red in cheeks Karen spoke, “Damsel always rewards the hero.”
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Damsel…
Who’s the damsel now?
Where’s the hero?
The damsel begs and lies trapped, but remains lost.
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Never had he acknowledge a feeling of love for her, and perhaps the boy never will. At least he came to learn he did. He missed her sarcastic witty remarks and spunky personality. That laugh that made him want to laugh to. The gentle smile that lit him up inside by its very sight. And those tender blue eyes that made him forget the misery he lay in.
He’d give anything to see her one more time. If anything, to tell her that he loved her. The boy wanted to tell her he loved the way she played tricks on him like deflating his tire on his bike so he’d fall off it. He’d tell he loved her for it because it was her way of picking him back up. He’d tell her that watching the rain patter upon the window made him think of the beat his heart made when his dark eyes saw the very sight of her.
The rattle of thunder shook the room again.
A flash lightened the window again. Another rattle came.
The boy’s weariness began to take its toll. He wanted to fight sleep for another night, for he feared he’d never wake up.
But why?
Why should he wake?
If he woke up he’d still be stuck here…
Maybe it was best he didn’t wake…
Maybe he could stay in his dreams…
Stay with Karen…
He liked that. The boy like that a lot.
A flash came again, followed by another rattle. They came more rampant, but neither bothered the boy. His mind was set. He was going to sleep. He was going to dream. He was hopefully going to never wake up. Another flash came as the boy took one last glance to watch the rain.
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“After a seven day search, the police found the kidnappers of an eleven-year-old boy, which ended in a deadly shootout during last night’s storm. They raided the home and found the boy dead, chained in the basement severely mistreated. Sources tell that if they had reached him a minute sooner they could have saved him. A sad tragedy to highly intense week, our thoughts and prayers go out to the family here on Channel Five news,” the television newscaster reported as the blue eyes watching it weep uncontrollably.
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