"It"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Consequences

Submitted: January 03, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 03, 2012

A A A

A A A


Down in the dark again, shaking in the dampness of the cold. Small, and alarmingly human.. though it's not human at all. How can it be? Above are the voices of what it has learned to call family. The laughter is loud, dinner is on the table, and everyone has crowded 'round. None even notice it's absence. The voices quiet as they are merely talking about their daily going ons.

That voice there, soft and soothing, is Mother's. She is telling of her day in the office, and how she longs not to be there. She is telling Father of hardness in her labors, and how can't wait until she can leave it all behind. A deeper voice, almost as soothing as Mother's, wraps its arms about her in its mind. Father's voice.. he tells Mother soon.. soon she will be able to relax all day, and work will be just a dreary memory.

Sister chimes in. She doesn't like peas. She wants a puppy for her upcoming birthday. A puppy, a bike, a new set of make up, and whole list of things. it thinks of peas, and its stomach churns. Hungry, sure.. but it knows better than to eat. it knows the food would be lost, because it has been too long since its eaten. The stomach doesn't know how too take any food in after a week, or so of being given little to nothing.

its body is scarred. Too many 'falls', too many failures.. too many tries, and no success. its earned them, and each wound is its only prize. The bruises are yellowing, fading from sight. When they're gone it might be able to return to the table, it might be able to sit alongside its Sister and eat the peas that Sister dislikes. it might be able to sleep in a warm bed, with a pillow and a blanket.. once the bruising is gone.

Lost in the reverie within its head, it leans back too far and a clutter of metal clashes too the floor. Scuttling away from the sound, it can only go so far. The black will vanish with the opening of the door and that voice, nearly as soothing as Mother's, will explain that it must be mice but the he will check. He may even set a few traps, he sounds as he clamors down the wooden steps.

it knows the mistake it has made, and knows that payment must be given. The traps securely set claim their true prize, which were never meant to be mice. A bloodied brow, a busted lip, and new bruises to add to those which were healing instead.. Not a sound does it make, for if the voices above heard.. it refuses to even think of the punishments Father would render.. perhaps not on it, but on those it loves..

And, really.. whats a little blood in trade for those whom it loves? And, so when the tears assault its eyes, there is no sound to accompany the waters. Still, it knows there will be pain for the show.. And, it endures. it has earned this righteous punishment, and so it dwells in the payment.. fractured bones, perhaps.. bloodied and broken.. it says not a word, and scarcely slides itself along the floor, once the blackness swallows it whole. The voices of Family continue to sound, and part of it feels proud.. it took the pain, its learning how... None of the others should ever need know, cannot know the distinct flavor of its last taste, nor hue, of its bodily discomfort.

Still it feels shame.. the mistake was costly, and it doesn't know when its next meal will come again. The blackness frightens it, and there is no comfort.. no one to save it from the very real fears it can't explain. Shivering on the cold concrete, it listens to its own heart beat, the voices of Family, and feels no relief from its pain as sleep coddles it.


© Copyright 2017 JadAtHrt. All rights reserved.

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