The Way Out of Torture

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Ms. Parks Language Arts P1-2

Submitted: March 22, 2016

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Submitted: March 22, 2016

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The Way Out of Torture

By: Reagan Schoening

It was the worst day of my life. I had lost my mom, my best friend. I could not believe what happened. I wondered what I would do without her, and cried for days straight. My life would not be the same without her, and nothing would be the same. My mom could always make me laugh. She would call me Alleba, and said that it’s more fun to say my name backwards. To this day I think a teenager like me doesn't deserve this, I was always a sweet, caring, selfless girl that thinks of others before herself. Since this happened, it’s hard to keep a good nature. Now I feel that I am always down in the dumps. My whole life changed in a blink when my mom left.

Now I have to live with my old and lazy fairy godmother, that should not be called “fairy” because she never uses her magic. When I reached my fairy godmother’s house for the first time, I thought there was no way that they were putting me into this filthy, unorganized house in the middle of nowhere. I wish I could just step outside and get some fresh air but no, I must stay inside and care for myself. The only thing my fairy godmother adores are her two adopted gnomes who I don’t know the names of. I just sit in this empty bedroom everyday looking outside and wondering how I could be free.

Day after day, I sit in this old grubby home and wish that I could just get one little bit of attention from my fairy godmother, or anyone. When I hear shrieks of the gnomes playing in the compact living room, I just wonder why they are protected so such and I am left in the dust.Living with my fairy godmother sounded fun at first, I dreamed of her house being magical and she would show me her magic. Unfortunately, I got the opposite of what I had imagined.

I thought of how wonderful it would be to see the outside world again, but also how hazardous it could be. My fairy godmother did not care for me, yet somehow she had so much control over me. I feel as if there are guards surrounding the house, which I know is not true. I have thought about escaping a lot and need to get over it because it will never happen. I find myself looking in my vibrant journal every hour, to see if my mom has written me.

Since she passed away, she has sent only one note in my journal, her apologies that I have to live with my fairy godmother. Since I was born, I have had this journal and my mom gave it to me and told me this is the most precious thing I will ever own. Through this journal, her and I can send letters to each other wherever we are. The modern smell of the book reminds me how much I miss living with my best friend. Not all of the letters we write get to the other person, because the book is so old. I refuse to write to her now, as I know it will be multiple years until I get a letter back, and I will be too anxious to wait so long.

There is no way I can do this. No way I can stay in this old house for my whole life and not do anything about it. However, this is not how my life was supposed to be. I need to get out of here. I need to tell my fairy godmother how uncared for I feel.

 

***

 

“I don’t deserve this” I start. “I shouldn’t be locked away in this house of yours to just lay in my room all day and look out the window wishing I could step foot outside. I wish I could have gone anywhere but here. When I had to move into this house, my life went from great to terrible. Do you even notice how unclean this house even is?”

“You don’t have any right talking to me like this young lady,” she yells, “I gave you a roof to live under, and you should be more than thankful you have what I have given you. You could be on your own, living in the open, probably dead by now.” Yet, that idea didn’t sound any worse than living in this dump.

“Could you at least give me some attention, or even let me go outside to get some fresh air and smell the freshness of the outdoors?” My voice rises and so does her’s.

“No! You do not deserve to have attention, as you never pay any attention to Tibbles or Chomsky anyway!” I almost laughed out loud because of the names of the gnomes that I know now.

“HOW does that have to do with anything!? I ask. She ignores me, as I repeat myself more than a couple of times. Apparently, she doesn’t want to keep this argument going, but I sure do. I stand there, waiting for a word, but I get nothing and I walk back to my room, proud knowing I was the last one to talk.

Days pass and I keep trying to continue this argument, because I know I will win.  When I talk or say anything she says nothing back, not even a sound effect, or some kind of motion. I have even tried to talk in a polite way and ask her if she could do something for me, anything for me. If she is not going to talk to me or compromise or anything, I do not belong here. Nevertheless, I need to find a way out, and I will. It will either be easy or difficult. I want to leave, I want to leave so soon. Overall, I am willing to risk my life to be free.

I think of what there is outside waiting for me outside of this house that I am trapped in. Tall, fresh trees that would fill my nose with a pungent smell. I would not want to blink for a second with all the scenery that surrounds me, the colorful, beautiful landscape full with all different kinds of plants and harmless animals. How great would it be, to touch the solid trunk of the tree that feels rugged and stands so confidently.  The sound of the crickets screeching and other animals moving would make me want to settle down and go to sleep, but I wouldn’t, knowing there is so much more to see. This is the type of life I want to be living, free and delightful, with a little bit of risk.

There are only a few cramped windows on the second floor in this deserted house, so I couldn’t escape that way. The one sturdy door in the front of the house is locked so many times on the inside and out, so that is definitely out of the picture. Evidently, my (not so fairy) godmother has to have some way that she can get out of the house, because she would not have somewhat cold food items in the fridge if she never left the house. I need to find that suspicious way that she can get out of this locked down home. I spend the whole day thinking and finally come up with a way to flee. Gnomes do anything they are told. I will wait until my fairy godmother is not with the gnomes and I will go ask them where the secret escape door is. I am sure that the chubby gnomes will know the answer because my fairy godmother tells them everything.

I had to wait until the next day because yesterday, she didn’t leave the gnome’s side for the whole night. I woke up as early as I could, and I can smell the delicious smell of dew from outside. I knew the spoiled gnomes only slept from midnight to 3am, so if I woke up early I could talk to them, and maybe even escape, before my (not so fairy) godmother wakes up.When I get out of bed, I notice the gnomes sitting in the tight living room as quiet as can be. Perfect timing.  I walk toward them slowly, making sure the tough wooden floor doesn’t screech to loud. I also ponder a bit about how this could be the last day I stay in this home. I couldn’t be more pleased.

“I need to ask you guys something very important.” I cut right to the chase. The gnomes begin to focus on me. I thought it would be an even better idea to lie to them. “Last night, I told your mother I would go get groceries for her in the morning but I forgot to ask her where I could get out of the house. Could you guys tell me where I would be able to get outside?”

They shake their head side to side. “Dobz,” one of them shouts, and I take it as a no.

“If I don’t get groceries for her, she will be in a bad mood and won’t play with you all day!” I wait, and finally they stop shaking their head.

They mumble, “Hmmm.” In unison, they point in the same direction. They have to be pointing where I can get out.

“Thank you,” I say, and don’t wait another second to walk where they were both pointing. I walk straight, through the kitchen and into the bathroom. There it is. My way out of torture. I was gone so quick through that tiny hidden door, that was covered with wallpaper that was the same as the wall to hide the door. It did not trick me.

***

 

Cold but refreshing wind burnt my face as I find myself still running, not keeping track of how long I have been running. Never looking back, I do not regret leaving everything behind, I only want to have my journal that I keep with me all the time. The woods were just as I pictured. So many colors everywhere and too many lovely plants to count. I can’t help but to keep a smile on my face, as I am so happy I could get away and finally get out in the real world, and oh how beautiful it is! I was happy again.

I finally slow down realizing how far I have gotten, and how long I have been running. I can hear my breathing loud and clear, in and out, noticing how out of shape I am, and that the last time I ran was with my mom. Now that I am far away, I can finally walk around the big open woods and take some time to myself. I wish, that I could build a house right here all alone, with all the scenery around me. I also want to keep going, there could be so much more to see that I don’t want to miss. With that, I keep walking and exploring, looking each and every direction seeing all the delightful plants every direction as I walk along this skinny dirt path. As I continue to walk, I see a mysterious bridge in the distance. I am curious to see what this is. It is probably some abandoned bridge hanging across sturdy trees. So, I keep walking toward the bridge, skipping at times for enjoyment. Finally, I reach my destination.

This was not a bridge that got stuck hanging in the trees. This bridge was long. There were wooden rectangular blocks to step on, and spaces in between the blocks. As the bridge went forward, it also got higher to the sky. Under it was still the woods that I have been walking in. The end of the bridge was so far away, it disappears from sight in the distance. I could keep adventuring in the woods, or I could experience this bridge, both are dangerous. Quickly,  I decided to see where the bridge would lead me. One step at a time, the crackling of the wooden blocks under my feet scare me, but I am not stopping now. Later, I still watch each step closer and closer, not paying attention to how close I am getting to the end. This could either be the last day of my life, or the start of a new life for me.


© Copyright 2017 reagan s. All rights reserved.

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