Chapter 1A Chapter by Katie de LavaniConfusing Chapter
Previous Version This is a previous version of Chapter 1. Chapter 1 “At
first? Did I believe it at first?” My eyes lowered to gaze at the small wooden
table supporting my slender arms. “No, no I didn’t.” My hand came up to my
aching head then slid down and created a roof over my deep ocean-blue eyes,
shielding them from the light above. Why
can’t this be just a regular, old fashioned room lit like a standard school
classroom? This room makes me feel like I’m on an abandoned stage, the single
spotlight beaming down on me. I can’t see two feet away from me. My jaws
clenched as the thought drifted
through my mind. I filled my lungs with the crisp air. “It
wasn’t until I had asked that one question too far. That one question that
followed all the others. That one question that threw me down into a mile deep
trench with no way out.” I was shaking my head as I spoke, thinking how the
recent past would have never existed had I stopped myself before I went too
far. Both
my bruised hands now sheltered my falling eyelids. A nauseating headache was
working its way around my brain. I realized the ineffectiveness of covering my
eyes when I saw table was quite successful at reflecting the beam’s brilliance;
my only escape would be to shut my eyes. I grimaced and ran a hand through my
wild blonde hair. “It’s actually quite amusing how this all
started. It all began with a hint of curiosity... A dash of boredom...” I let a
soft chuckle echo through my throat as I fixed my gaze on one of the dark
pockets of the room. “It was really all entirely by chance.” I sat forward in
my chair, my hands clasped together on the table. “If I hadn’t done exactly
what I had, I wouldn’t be in here talking to you, some guy cowering in a dark
corner without even the courage or manners to come into the light. You have a
nasty scar or something you don’t want me to see?” I tried to no avail to catch
any face or figure, squinting my eyes under the light. I had had about enough of this silence.
“Are you even there?” Sound was the only thing that seemed to be able to
penetrate the black shadows encompassing my seat and the wooden table. A low grumble erupted from the mouth of the
lurker, “Just start from the beginning, little miss.” My oval shaped face, dotted with freckles
and framed by layers of dark golden locks, was showing very plainly the lines
of fear and exhaustion. Shady moon crescents hung under each eye, sunken in
from lack of sleep. My worn and tattered Converse on my feet wouldn’t stop
shifting around on the concrete floor. A blue long-sleeved shirt and an old
pair of jeans hung loose upon my limbs. I
was frightened to the point of overwhelming fatigue. But surprisingly,
somewhere inside I had this strong confidence that suppressed most of my
current apprehension and replaced it with a cool anger. I glanced down at my ragged clothes. Even
after considering the state of my garments, the only accessory I would ever ask
for would be, “Hey, before I ramble on some more, do you think you could maybe
get me a hat? It doesn’t have to be anything extravagant, just something to get
this damn light off my eyes. I feel my migraine might be contagious and you
might soon find yourself with one, so you think you could save yourself and me
the discomfort and just get me one?” If
there had been any more light in the room to illuminate the form currently
stationed behind me, I might have seen the eyebrows of the mystery man rise up
at my absurd question. “Yea,”
I pointed up at the ceiling, “This light seems to be quite inconveniently
placed so that whoever has drawn the short stick has to sit in this chair and
fall victim to this zombie light.” I let my hand fall down to my lap and
swiveled 180 degrees to face the south side of the room. “Either I get a hat,
Sir I-can’t-speak-more-than-five-words, or you let me sit in one of those nice
dark corners over there.” I pointed up at the ceiling bulb then to my head and
then to the end of the room. Trying
to mask my nervous trepidation of what the instructions this killer had been
given, I was trying to get a laugh out of this guy… It wasn’t working. Silence
floated around the room as slowly as a blimp crossing the sky. My eyes rolled.
“Oh I have an idea,” I continued, “How about you and I trade places! I can be
nice and comfortable while I tell you how I ended up in this ridiculous room
with you, as instructed, and you can come sit in this nice chair here,” I gave
it a pat. Then you can have a little monster crawl up into your hair, take out
a baseball bat and knock your skull until you have a headache worse than mine.
Sound good?” I was smiling to myself. He
can’t scare me with his silence, I thought to myself. Then
again, it was rather unnerving, talking into an empty space, not able to make
out any movement. How was I to know if he was even there? What if he wanted to
slit my throat from behind? Now, apparently, this man was either too busy
cleaning his foot-long blade to hear me, or he didn’t like to talk much, for
there was again the uneasy silence. I frowned. “Hat
or trade places? Take your pick, Sir Sunshine.” A heavy set of boots hit the
floor. Powerful thuds began at a leisurely pace, clunking towards me. “So we
are trading then? Great.” I began to rise from my chair but was forced back
down by a powerful hand pushing down painfully on my left shoulder. “Hey!”
I protested. A curved metal object snuck around my wrist and was yanked towards
the underside of the table. “What the...” By the time I looked down, my wrist
had been handcuffed to one of the legs of the table. “Oh
come on! Now I can’t even get up to go to the bathroom?!” I moaned and set my
head onto the cold surface of the table. The
low grumble of my mystery man once again filled the room but this time, warning
augmented as each word left his tongue. “Now you listen close, little girl.
There are precisely two conditions you can leave this room. One: alive, if you
shut your uncontrollable yap that is, and say only what I want to hear. And
what do I wanna hear? Exactly everything you’ve learned of our organization.
The second condition: you’re dead, wrapped up in a plastic trash bag which is
exactly where trash like you belongs, stone cold or still breathin’.
Personally, I don’t give a damn what you do. Boss thinks you might be an asset
to ‘im. My orders are to keep you on track. I can have you dead in a heartbeat
or I can make it nice and slow. And, believe me little girl, it would be a
pleasure to shut you up once and for good. So if you feel like saving your a*s
today, I suggest you do what I say and stop complainin’.” Tears
sprinted down my cheeks and ripped themselves from my chin to plummet towards
my jeans. I had always thought myself a calloused individual, always playing
false emotions across my face. But ever since two days ago, my emotions had
been erratic and as plain as the sun in the sky. My head grew hot and my
eyelids grew heavy and puffed up. My lips trembled as tears swept over them. For
once, I was glad not to be facing this cold-blooded murderer. I began to
sniffle. No, I told myself. Do you want to surrender to this killer? I
might have no longer been an expert at masking my emotion but I still had my
willpower. I will not surrender. Something
else I took pride in was my mental power over pain, emotion, and muscle
response. A flick of a switch in my brain and my tears ceased to pour out, my
nose cleared up, and I regained my composure. I would purge my mind of the
headache that was bothering me, but headaches took time to clear, and I wasn’t
planning on sitting here to let the silence creep around my throat and cut off
my air. My voice was still quivering when I began to
speak, but after a couple of seconds, it had become a steady stream of words.
“It wasn’t three weeks ago that I met Sara…” © 2010 Katie de LavaniAuthor's Note
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Added on May 25, 2010Last Updated on May 25, 2010 AuthorKatie de LavaniCAAboutHi. Nothing much to say about me. I'm always looking for a good story in my life and sometimes base the stories I write on real life experiences. I love to read others writing to see just how horrible.. more..Writing
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