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Who's Teaching Whom (Part Two) |
| Written by James | |
| Sunday, 20 April 2008 | |
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Chapter Two A Moment To Savor
I was here!….I was finally here. This was the moment that was all a matter of choice. My heart was racing with excitement; I swear that there must have been several or even a dozen palpitations. The world is full of decisions that have to be made to ultimately affect a person’s life, and, this one especially, to change more than the average person would even have the courage to think. To me it is all a matter of character and the substance that a person possesses. Are they brave enough? Has this person’s life come to such a state?….These are the questions that matter-These are the facts that matter. When considering the alternatives I-Well, there are no alternatives, or at least none that I was interested in. No, this is the only way. This is the only choice that is the right one (or so I thought at that time). I was careful in my plan and knew deep down that I should show up-most stealth in my procedure. The layout of my intention was simple and gradually irrelevant to the possibility of confusion of the inevitable outcome and, once excessively thought over, gave me clarity of mind. My movements would be swift as a hawk and disclosed as a president’s advocator’s meeting. The outline itself was an adequate amount of common sense and the entire apparatus consisted of a “one point” goal. I was not like others would be. I was calm, I was undisturbed,….and not a nerve in my body was preoccupied with the competent effort to stay at peace. Why? Because I was already now at peace, and I was steadfast in my little “activity”. All the torment, pain, agony, and unrelinquished suffering would, for once, slightly heal. This was the moment. Yes, it was now time. I still remember every single detail that I picked up that night: the fresh smell of paint from the newly colored porch across the street, the bright street light shining down on the line of mailboxes that were a few yards down the road, and, what was most of all rememorable, the cool breeze of air entering from the crack of my window and smiting my body with a powerful thrust that was reminiscent of a lovely storm‘s. I like storms. They are what give us that rush which inhabits our bodies when the lightning strikes and surges with deadly power at either an object or the loose soiled ground in the backyard. We all have fears, but mine are a few. When I was a small girl I had no friends, no one except my dog. He had no name; he died before I had a chance to give him one. My mother and father told me he ran away, but I never did tell them that I really knew what happened. They lied to me to try and cover up their own mistake. The rat poison that was spread out was obviously a death trap for the poor animal, and it was. Here I am now from a small little girl to a grown young woman who is terrorized by the time line of her own life. How awful is it really? Well, I hope not many others out there know. There are many things out in the world that should remain unknown if you were to ask me. The car was parked to the side of the rough road. I waited several minuets before she finally got out and waved goodbye to her friend and started walking away. I slowly got out and took the darkened bottle out of my coat pocket while leaving the car door cracked open to avoid making a sound and I then headed towards her normally and calmly so that, if she were to see me, unwanted suspicions would not enter her mind. It was not until I reached the back of her head that it all becomes a blurred rush. It happened so fast. The chloraphorm on the dry cloth took an affect on her quickly than was suspected; she fought a few seconds, of course, but was not in violent contact with me long enough to see my face. Also, she herself was heavier than what was suspected. It took all my strength to get her into the vehicle. I am still surprised I didn’t hurt my back or legs. Her hair was, as I recall, in the most pitiful shape imaginable as a result of all of the commotion, and what I remember most of all was how late it was and the great amount of energy in which I was lacking; however, I still treated her as if she were as delicate as a glass on a dinner table; I operated as if I were surrounded in a room of porcelain. My effort was more than what was necessary, and she should have thanked me. The leather of the seat smudged the little makeup hat she had on and transferred it onto the car seat’s surface. My heart was now beating slow and the lack of the fast pulse was somewhat disappointing to me. To be absolutely honest, I expected better out of her, and, I suppose, I wanted everything to be a bit more difficult than it actually was, and that is what confused me, but I quickly realized that what was planned was only partially finished and that was when I shut the door to get in the front seat of the car and drive off. While driving I kept replaying what happened in my mind: she struggled slightly and then that was when I, along with the cloth of chloraphorm, overpowered her. My head kept turning back and forth to both keep my eyes on the road and also to look in the backseat to check on her. My concern was not for her well being but for mine. The road seemed to be endless and go on forever; I thought I would never reach the place. I then began to think of what to do tomorrow but quickly remembered that I had already planned it out: stay with her and watch her, and that was it (simple as that). I would stay awake, even though I was completely exhausted, and wait till she awakes to see my face,…….and that would be worth the wait. Yes,…it would.
* * *
Her head was laid down on the old tire as the rest of her body was touching horizontally on the dirty cement floor. The air around both her and I actually smelled of burnt tire itself, the amount of space in the room was fairly limited due to all of the old equipment and fuels that had been left behind, and, as I was looking over to keep an eye on her, I could swear I could hear scratching. I just thought I was getting too paranoid and I should just ignore it all. As a failed attempt to pass the time away I was fiddling with my nails with a file. I remember that I kept wondering how much longer was it going to take and several times thought of just willingly letting myself drift off to sleep; her feet and arms were tightly tied together after all, and the five layers of tape would make it impossible for her to make the slightest bit of noise; nevertheless, I decided that it would be best not to. I was marvelously tenacious when it came to savoring moments like these. The entire ordeal gave me such a-such a…….“high” (you could say). It is amazing how you can feel something but just cannot express it when it comes to transferring it to words. Lots of people might actually know what I am talking about, but those might be ones that I would not necessarily like to meet; they would most likely be in a cell, starving and isolated to the extent where they have gone completely and utterly mad. Their rib cage would be as visible as a wine stain on a brand new carpet or rug, and their mouth as dry as the Sahara (torture inflicted on them due to their recent, immoral deeds). It was not long until time itself lingered into a black hole and disappeared ominously into nothing; it was then when every detail, like before on the street of the girl’s house, became easily visible and noticeable to my very own two eyes: rusty bar shelves traveled from floor- up (holding numerous bottles and cans), old photographs that were left behind by the owner, which showed the history of the place’s construction, hung on the stained and other differently colored walls, and wrenches laid spread out on corners of the floor. I was sitting, with legs crossed, on top of an aged wooden desk while watching as her fingers and feet finally started to twitch. “Well, it’s about time,” I said softly out loud to myself. She slightly moaned for a moment as a result of a headache, I assumed. Her eyes remained closed shut, and her muscles relaxed. She did not speak but just continued to move immensely slow and not at all frantic as if she were still half asleep. The long cut skirt scrubbed against the unclean floor when she came to moving her legs a bit more faster, and her head was now off of the tire when she actually began to try to speak but was stopped by the thick layer of tape. I slid myself off the wooden platform and landed softly on my high heels. Even though she did not glance around she could still sense that she was not the only one there. I approached her right away and kneeled down to have my face in complete alignment with hers. I grabbed both of her tied up hands and said, “Open your eyes, Marcy.” That moment was what I truly enjoyed. It was the single most terrific moment of my life. Her eyes opened and grew wide with terror. I assumed that she had figured out that, due to my calm approach and speech towards her at that moment, I was not here to save her,…and she was right. I ripped the tape off her. And then she screamed! The stupid girl screamed! I covered my ears at first but then remembered where I was. I raised one hand and slapped her hard right in the mouth; I was surprised that there was no blood. “Now, there is no sense in doing that you-idiotic-girl!” I yelled out at her. “Where am I?” she screamed out. “You’re at a place where no one can hear you. So, there is no use in yelling, and don’t worry….I’m not going to hurt you.” “You’re lying!” “No, I am not. Calm down if you want to get out of here.” “What do you mean?” “If you listen to what I have to say then I will let you go, but that will be after I am certain you have listened to me.” There was a long pause in the room until the girl finally started to speak again. “There is no way that I am going to sit here and listen to a stupid, spiteful, ignorant **** like yourself!” Her words shocked me. I could have never thought that she was capable of having such a dirty, impolite mouth. Okay, sure I abducted her, but that was no excuse for the way she behaved. If she wanted to get out of here she would do as I say; it was simple as that, but, apparently, she was not ready for that right at this moment. “Fine,” I said. “If you do not want to follow my very simple instructions then I am afraid I am just going to have to wait till you decide to.” I took out and stretched brand new tape against her soft and pale skin as she showed a cruel look towards me. I then pushed her body hard down on the floor. She was incapable of getting up so I was not at all worried about what would happen if I were to go to sleep. Pretty much the rest of all that night only carried one thing that I can still remember, and that is my dream. It was around four in the morning when I had put my head down on a pillow that was not too far on top of an inexplicably messy floor; I was also on an old cot that was similar to the one that I had put out for the young girl, and, surprisingly, she had accepted it. In my dream there were dark, opaque clouds, clouds that, I assume, possibly meant something that was an implement of evil and obliteration. I was surrounded by the mist and taken by it. I started to sink downward into nothing; the endless spiral in which I had fell into was completely consuming me. It was not long until it became me; it dwelled deep inside (an entity that was permanent). There was no longer conscience. No relevance to sanctity or pureness; only evil. Evil inside and out. Dreams are often claimed to have a specific meaning and an important representation of a message. I, out of many most likely, have never taken that accusation seriously or at least that was the way it use to be for me. I now seem to think the opposite and agree. Ever since I have had that specific one it has permanently been stuck in my mind and has caught my attention on several occasions. Even as I speak now I cannot help but be reminded of the ghastly emotion in which I felt that night in my sleep; it has come to be a haunting all on its own. Copyright 2008 James |
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