Lighthouse - Part Two

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A/N: This here is the second part to Lighthouse. This one has the heavier bit to it, but is more action-ey. ;) Now remember, you can read this if you really want to but, read Part One first please.

EDIT: This is shorter then the first part!~

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Lighthouse - Continued

“Alyse, a car!” I heard James voice shout above my mothers screams of pain, I glance over my shoulder to see him barrelling towards me, catching up as if it was nothing. I turned back. He was going to stop me from saving mother.

But then I saw it, the headlights beamed right at me, the cars brakes screeching as the car tried to come to a stop, but it was too late, the roads were too slippery. I screamed for my mother, and she screamed back. I did not know what she said but I felt a pushed against me, a force pushing me out of the way of the car. I glanced over to see James with his arms around me, face scrutinized into a grimace of pain as the car rode over his ankle, letting out a sickening crunch. He did not even let out a cry. Instead I heard him whisper one word.

“Go.”

He shifted his weight and I staggered, from underneath him, to my feet, tears fresh upon my cheeks, twisted around and ran for the other alleyway.

I tripped over something and turned back to see that it was my Nana, the maid who had come with us. Her wrinkles seemed to be deeper and below her eyes were darkening. I stared at her in horror, her vacant eyes gazing lifelessly back. Her mouth was open as if she was surprised and her grey hair was covered with blood, the same blood which was pooling on the ground.

“Nana…” I muttered, grabbing her hand just to throw it away when I felt the coldness in it, the stiffness. The snow clung to her lashes, and her chest was not rising and falling as it had done in life. She was dead.

“No! Let go of me!” I heard my mother’s panicked cry again and shook my head to snap myself out of my trance. I looked further into the alleyway and I saw three heavier built silhouettes pinning down my mom’s tiny frame.

“Let go of my mother!” I cried and charged forward at the man who was holding her down. I saw her eyes widen in fear as she saw me, her mouth going slack. The man pushed me and I fell onto my back, the pain crawling up my spine, but I ignored it. I straightened out and fool-heartedly charged at him again.

“Let go of her!” I begged clawing at the man’s arms. To my dismay, I watched one of the other men raise up her shirt revealing her porcelain skin on her stomach. There was a bruise forming there.

“Get this bitch off of me!” The man yelled at the other who was doing nothing. The man got walked over and I instantly let go. He stood over me, dauntingly tall, his mouth turned into a scowl of disgust. His arms were heavily muscled, and a gaunt beard was appearing on his chin.

“You expect me to hurt a child?” He growled to the other man, eyes still on me.

I saw this as a chance, and flung myself forward once more. A sudden pain blossomed in my stomach as I flew backwards. I landed hard, and the pain knocked the wind out of me. “No…” The pain faltering my voice.

“Just kill that child, damn it.” The original man turned around and started to pull down my mother’s skirts, a grin spread across his face.

“No!” My mother struggled even more, flailing her arms and kicking her legs. One of her blows connected with a man’s nose, breaking it almost on contact, the blood gently trickling down onto the pavement.

“Damn it Christopher! Hold this slut down better!” The bloke with the broken nose screamed, clutching his wound, blood streaming down onto his hands.

“What do I do with this child?” The muscular man grabbed my wrist bringing me close and covering my mouth with his hand. The smell was disgusting, smelling of sweat and the streets. I was pressed up against him unwillingly, and he pinned me with his strong arms.

“I already said, kill it!”

“Alyse! Run! Get out of here!” My mother cried, tears hauntingly falling down her cheeks which were flushed from the cold.

I bit the man’s hand, disliking the saltiness of his skin, and he let go of me because of the shock and pain. I leapt away from him and started running so I could get out arms reach of him. I turned back to my mother who had stopped struggling, the men pulling off her clothing.

“I am not leaving you…” I said, barely audible.

“You have to. I will not see you killed.” A small smile graced her lips, that perfect smile. “I love you Alyse.” Her once beautiful golden hair was matted and her eyes seemed dark and full of agony. This was not how I wanted to ever see her. I had always thought of her as the loving sombre mother who would always protect me and keep me safe and seeing her there, looking the most vulnerable I had ever seen her, made me become conscious that nobody was safe in this world and that the world was not as perfect as it seemed.

There was absolutely no way possible that if I stayed, I would have ever been able to live. There are cruel people in this world and it made me feel so small, insignificant and scared at the same time. And so my cluelessness of childhood was gone.

I saw the one man pant’s fall. My eyes widened in horror.

“Alyse, go!” I felt a pull from behind and in a daze I turned and saw James there, misery clearly seen on his face. He pushed me to the front of the alleyway and I stumbled forward into a run.

And I ran.

I ran as hard as I could and as far as could. I ran until I felt the cramps pinch my sides and my breath catch and my legs feel like lead. I staggered to a stop and pushed myself up to the wall and my knees buckled beneath me and I fell. Tears slipped down my cheeks and held myself close. I had never felt that alone in my life.

About an hour later, I heard an unsteady walk approach me and I looked up and saw James approach with his disfigured limp. He sat down beside me and put his arm around me, bringing me close.
“You are not alone anymore. I am here,” he whispered in my ear.

We sat there until morning when people came from their houses and found us covered in a layer of snow.

And he had always been there since. But I personally haven’t been the same. After witnessing my mother’s rape, and finding her dead in that alleyway the next morning, I slowly slipped into depression because at that moment, at the age of nine, I felt my world cave in around me. It was the worst feeling I have ever felt, and my once so sheltered life, had progressed to this.

I was a lost ship at sea, needing a lighthouse to guide me back to shore.

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Fun Fact: I am sure you British people on this site might have heard about Harrods department store in London? Well, that's how I figured out what to name her and how James knew who she was. I am pretty sure there isn't a Thomas Harrods in 1935 who owned the Harods's Stores Limited, but shh, nobody needs to know anything.

~Incognito
'Everyone is entitled to be stupid, some just abuse the priviledge.'




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Hey Incog! Me again. ^_^

Nit-Picks:

I glanced over to see James with his arms around me, face scrutinized into a grimace of pain as the car rode over his ankle, letting out a sickening crunch. He did not even let out a cry. Instead I heard him whisper one word.

Ack, I visualized that so well. *cringes* That's very sweet of him, though, to help her. There's a pretty good chance he'd go into shock after someone ran over his ankle...

“Damn it Christopher! Hold this slut down better!”

Change the first sentence to 'Dammit, Christopher!'

About an hour later, I heard an unsteady walk approach me and I looked up and saw James approach with his disfigured limp.

Change "saw" to 'see' and "approach" to 'approaching.'

It was the worst feeling I have ever felt, and my once so sheltered life, had progressed to this.

The second comma is unnecessary.

Overall:

Wow, I loved this just as much as I loved your first part! Your description is, once again, lovely. Also, your story-line was simply enthralling. So is there more to this at all? If not, I'll be looking forward to reading more of your writing. :D
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You judge others upon their actions, but you judge yourself by your intention.



The important thing is never to stop questioning.
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