Young Writers Society

I forced open the door, running out of the haunting room. Shadows clawed at me as I searched blindly for a way out, a way to leave. I bumped into a wall, my hand coming into contact with the frigid brick, with the walls that concealed me from the outside world. A devastating yell of pure anger exploded from the work den, throwing me against the wall from the sheer, rage, the sheer hate, that was vibrating the building. I had to run from the monster inside, run until I couldn’t run any longer. I had to continue, to leave. I had to get away!

I push on letting, the wall guide me, protect me, from the horrors that might be unleashed upon me. The wall was smooth against my touch, flawless. It was like a person, perfect, yet it held many secrets. A stranger could walk up to that person, and wouldn't’ know about the tiny particles of blood dotted around this area, or notice that a part of that being had to be healed from a cause of anger. No one would know, no one would care. Only few knew about the secrets that that person held. Only few, if even one.

My hand bumped into a metal rail, blocking me from continuing by wall. I rested my hand on the rail, as another yell, another cry, broke loose from the den. I was shaken back to reality, back to earth, back to the terror that was trying to kill me. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness around me, but not enough to see the details in front of my body. I landed my foot on the freezing wood of the first step down. Catching my breath, my oxygen, my air, I quicked my pace down the stairs, hoping that my memory was tuned enough to assess the amount of space between each step. With my hand still on the rail, I sped down, as fear boomed in my ear, and hate burned in my heart.

I know I’m near the end when I hear the steps echo throughout the house, when me steps seem to sound a hundred times louder. I wish I was counting the steps, because when I reach the end, I think there’s another one. Falling, but not, I tripped to the ground, dazed, confused. The world was like that, giving you a sense of presence around you, but in reality, nothing is there. It’s empty. Blank. Just like the time I thought someone was listening, someone cared about me. But people are selfish, cruel. I should have know that the new boy next door from me five-years ago just wanted to belong. To be cared for. I was a tool at his disposal, all I was needed for was to break the safe, get the goods. After that, I could be replaced by others. To think that I was empty inside, so empty, that the thought of me of final having a friend, final having hope, was adequately acceptable to go against the law that I’ve govern myself for my whole life. That I don’t have one.

I stood back up, rising my body so that I could get hit again with the same force.  A diminutive light illuminated the area with a soft glow, it’s source resting on the polished countertop of the kitchen. I stumbled closer to the light, grateful for the little radiance it provided. I glanced across the structure of the kitchen, with it’s stove stove and oven the color of the pitches black. The sink was spotless and clean, made out of a shadowy glass, giving you a feeling that you were looking deep into an abyss. To sum it up, the kitchen was immaculate, not a single thing out of place. It made me want to vomit. This was like walking up to a fast food place, and ordering something from their menu that looks good, but when you find out how it’s made, It’s revolting. It is nasty, gross, and unpleasing, or that’s what the book I read it in said. I’ve personally never been allowed to eat out, but the comparison was there. Our home wasn’t a polite, respected household, as our guest thought we were, but violent, cruel, and aggressive. I all made me sick.

But I couldn’t waste time. Circling the counter, I went to the refrigerator. The black metal blended in with the gloomy darkness, making it hard to sight my destination. Time wasn’t on my side, I had to move faster, quicker. Opening up the refrigerator, i found bags of neatly place food items in order by their dates. Clean. Perfect. I shake my hand in fury, grabbing the earliest dated bag, and closed the frig. I’m stone frozen when I hear creaks and squeaks thunder from above. Heart beating, pounding, I raise my head to the stairs, as all the emotions inside of me accelerate a hundred times faster. Sounds that roar ahead of me. A thousand times. A slam that splits my heart. A million times. I think of the worst possibility that could happen, and it happens. The beast slams the door of it's hinges, the beast shatters the door off it’s hinges, the beast thrusts the door off it’s hinges. And I thought I could get away easily, but oh how I was wrong.

Time slowed down, seconds were decades, long and lengthy. We studied each other, waited for the other to make the first move, attack, kill. I couldn’t control my breathing any longer, letting it out in small gasps. My body was shutting down again, being forced to submit to the savage, murderer, beast, in front of me. All my other emotions were dissolving in a poll of fear, the same pool that was drowning me in with deadly images. Its monstrous eyes, like dark moons, dug deep into my soul, crushing me into surrender. An uncontrollable shiver bloomed in my legs, causing me to shake in all, causing me to salute in fear. Causing me to back down from the threat in front of my face. I fell to my knees, the pressure of my soul was too much for my mind to handle, and too dark for my heart to continue. Tears welled up in my eyes, burning my face with its drop of defeat. My brain was trying to make up an excuse for my failure in running away. Leaving. Fleeing. But at the bottom of my heart, I knew that nobody exits from the cave of the beast. From the home of my father.