Friends of this Kind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Harley is 9 years old boy, living in the London Sewers. His situation made him crazy, making him sit in pain and suffer. How will he get rid of the things holding him? Can he even be saved anymore? (This story is for my English assessment at school by the way).

Friends of this kind.
 
Drips of stagnant water fall to the sewer floor, leaving puddles of disgusting liquid. The sound of frogs echoed across the walls... Roomy. Wind brushed Harley's face, but only in his dreams, because the overworld was no place for a small boy. His sewer was his haven where he could live without being judged. Difference would not be a good thing, as he had never been anywhere but “home”. Silence.
 
Slipping in slime, Harley climbed the walls of his home, attempting to find his family. Maybe they were away, maybe they left again. Maybe they were found. Hopefully not. They had been here for his whole life, only ever feeling the cold, leftover air from the things above. They would die from any change, as would Harley. He still searched, because he had never been alone, he was always being held by the things with long, spiney arms... they made him warm. They made him feel safe and calm. 
 
New sound. What is it? Like something, but something that could not be found in his memory. The puddles had been fazed; they were making different dripping sounds now. Maybe it was them. Harley got on all fours and started pouncing off the walls, hitting the floor, feeling like he had been reconnected with the only things who understood him. Boots were stomping down the thin tunnels, splashing everything that they were close to. What is that...? That’s... different. Not a pleasant sight. The strange new things grabbed Harley by the arms and dragged him into the streets of London, his original birthplace. He heard something coming from the mouths of the gentlemen who took him, but he couldn’t understand. He kicked and screamed as they pulled him closer and closer to a light green truck with the letters LMA (London's Mental Asylum) written on the sliding door in bold black letters. He felt so unsafe that he grabbed the closest thing to him and hit the men one by one over the head with it. Then, he ran.
 
Finally, they were back, his family. His make-believe family. Imaginary, crazy, spiderlike family. The ones that held him, made him warm. They were all standing there, all 6 of them. They crawled towards a door, one that sat right at the entrance of the sewers. They obviously acknowledged Harley's presence, otherwise they wouldn’t have gestured towards him to come to the room.
 
As he entered, he searched the walls for a lamp, but there were none to be found. He found it so strange, since he had explored everywhere in the sewers after getting bored in the nine years of living here, that there were no lamps. He placed one everywhere that he went, including the small passage to the surface. He placed his small hands at his sides, waiting for the figments of his imagination to direct him to where they were going. They moved to one of the corners, and there sat a chair. One single chair. One that was hooked up to a wall with wires and electrical boards. There were sparks coming from the 3 wires that led to the wall, there were clearly rats that had chewed through them. The water had leaked from the roof and landed in a line around the chair, keeping almost everything away from it. Except for Harley. He knew he was insane, but he didn’t know how much pain he was in before he realized he could take it all away.
 
He moved slowly on his hands and knees closer towards the chair, being careful not to tread in the water. The creatures were standing there, watching without taking their eyes from him. The creepy stare would have left anyone believing that these things had never slept a day, or never eaten a crumb. It's like they were hungry for something, something being some solitude. They focused on him, and only him, making his last seat comfortable. He sat, and with a sigh of relief, he placed his feet in the water.
 
The friends of this kind vanished, never seen again.


Submitted: March 18, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Beccas10Scratches. All rights reserved.

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