Breaking Out

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: The Imaginarium
A short story inspired by the Imaginarium House Picture Prompt 15.

Submitted: July 11, 2017

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Submitted: July 11, 2017

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Breaking Out.

 

It looked like some kind of paradise, a mansion on the scale that most people would not even imagine, but for Kit it was a prison. She could not remember very much of her previous life, before she became one of ‘the girls’. Her life consisted of parties with the rich, providing whatever entertainment they required, regardless of how she felt about them.

 

She didn’t have a bad life, she supposed. Not compared to so many people. She was pampered, spoilt, never wanted for anything, to do with appearance at least. Her wardrobe was full of designer labels, her perfumes and make-up were top-of-the-range. She was either going up or coming down from a cocktail of alcohol and drugs so she needed nothing more apart from a bed to sleep in. And there was always a luxurious one of those, even though she was never sure who she would wake up beside.

 

Lately, though, she had found herself longing to get out. How many months had it been seen she had even taken one step outside? How long since she had been allowed to breathe fresh, clean air. There was no way out for her though. The doors were kept locked, alarms primed, should any of ‘the girls’ try to escape. The windows would not open and the glass in them was shatter-proof.

 

At twenty-five she knew her time was starting to get short. If she was very lucky she might be given a place for the next three years but on the other hand, she had known girls to be removed, replaced, who were both younger and prettier than her. And although she had no memories of it, she must have had some kind of life before the mansion. Perhaps outside there was someone who was missing her.

 

Kit longed to confide in someone, to talk it through. But who? She could not talk to any of ‘the girls’; many would be happy to sell her out just from spite, and others might accidentally let something slip when they were high and partying. She was on her own, and it would have to stay that way.

 

More and more of her time was spent in thinking. Escape had become an irritant, a thought that did not want to let go. It was taking the edge off the drugs, the drink, and Kit knew her ‘performance’ was starting to slip. And there had been the glances aimed her way, whispered comments. Others had noticed and even though her obsession was going to get her killed, she could not let it go.

 

The pool! That was the only chance really, for her to find an escape route. They’d all be there together but if she kept to herself she could go off, investigate. Kit was a strong swimmer both on the surface and under water; she’d take her chances, look around, see if she could find a tunnel or some kind of wide pipe leading outside.

 

She dipped down under the surface a few times, each time moving further towards the edge of the pool. Nobody seemed to have noticed; in fact no one was paying her any attention at all. Kit dived, stayed down, looked for something, anything, that was in any way promising.

 

And then she saw it, a gap, in the wall, under water still but leading somewhere......else. She’d chance it, follow it round. Kit found herself in a separate space, no longer inside the pool but in a narrow water-filled corridor. She quietly stayed on the surface, looking around. There were other openings, on both sides of her; knowing which one to take was impossible. But Kit also knew that she would no longer be able to make her way back to the pool either. There was no other option, she would have to keep trying.

 

And down she’d dive, going this way and that, only to emerge in another corridor identical to the one she had just come from. She was starting to tire, her body not used to such prolonged exercise. Kit longed to be able to put her feet down onto something solid, but the water now was far too deep. All she could do was to rest on the surface for a moment, treading water, while she tried to get her bearings.

 

Fresh air! Wasn’t that what she was smelling? And the temperature of the water was lower, noticeably cool. Kit had not thought of that; how she would emerge, if she made her way out, in nothing more than a dripping swimsuit. The mansion was always warm and somehow the idea that it would not be the same outside had slipped her mind. But then, she realized, she could hardly have brought clothes with her.

 

Kit followed her nose, let the smell of fresh air lead the way. And there it was -- a pipe, narrow but she should be able to fit, to swim her way through it. She took a deep breath and she went with the water-flow. The entire pipe was full of water and by the time she tumbled out of the other end to land with a splash in a kind of lake, her lungs felt as though they would burst. She splashed her way to the edge, crawled on to dry ground and lay still.

 

Kit knew she could not stay there for long. She needed to get moving. But where? Which way should she now go? And she was cold, so cold; her dripping body would not stop shivering. Her teeth were chattering. She rubbed her arms and legs with her hands, hoping the friction might bring some warmth. She was just about to stand when she heard them, foot-steps, coming towards her.

 

She’s here. What do you want me to do, Boss?” A pause, then, “Okay!”

 

Kit looked up, straight into a pair of coldly staring eyes and an equally cold gun barrel. This was it then.

 

Bang!” he said, then squeezed the trigger.


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