The Jester Race [ENG]

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Necraria
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The Jester Race [ENG]

Post autor: Necraria »

Po długim namyśle, postanowiłam opublikować na Forum moje pierwsze w życiu opowiadanie :) Napisałam je na zajęcia z Creative writing, w przerwie pomiędzy jedną i drugą magisterką oraz codziennymi obowiązkami, więc nie byłam w stanie poświęcić się pisaniu tak, jak bym chciała, ale to takie moje marudzenie ;) Niemniej, liczę na to, że choć trochę przypadnie Wam do gustu. Wszelkie uwagi i spostrzeżenia są jak najbardziej pożądane - nie mam wprawy w pisaniu utworów z fabułą, więc niewątpliwie jest wiele aspektów, które należałoby poprawić :ops:

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After a long struggle with her eyelids, Bree opened her eyes. She was surprised to find herself in a cold, dark room. She could hear water dripping all around her. As soon as she tried to move, a piercing pain overwhelmed her, making its way from her head through her intestines down to her toes. Confused and paralysed with hurt, Bree tried to muster all her strength to focus her attention away from the anguish and attempt to fathom what is this place and how did she get here, however with no luck. The throbbing in her skull didn’t seem to subside and each spasm sent a wave after a wave of acute pain across her body. It wasn’t until a couple of hours have passed, that the hurt abated and Bree was able to gradually regain control of her mind.

The first thought that came to her head was the question as to what has happened to her. The only thing she could remember was driving home after yet another excruciating day at work she hates and a young girl made up as Twiggy handing out leaflets on a parking lot next to Bree’s block of flats. They contained information about a theme park set in the 60’s, opening close by and presented a collage of 60’s related images, including a photomanipulation of The Beatles on a roller coaster. Amused, Bree started chatting with the girl. After that, she only remembers a glimpse of Banksy’s mural showing a maid sweeping dirt from the street behind a curtain and the roaring of a car engine. Then she must have blacked out, since what she remembers next was waking up in this uninviting place.

When she tried to move her hands she realised that they were tied tightly together. No surprise there, Bree thought to herself. She obviously didn’t arrive at this cellar or whatever this place is on her own. Although her mouth wasn’t gagged, she discovered that the only sound she was able to articulate was a harsh sounding moan. Having finished checking the rest of her body by trying to move her limbs, Bree concluded that only her hands were hampered, but her eyes were also useless, as she was apparently locked in a pitch black cellar. A damp cellar filled with horrid stench of excrements and sweat.

There was some noise coming from her right—scratching and some other sound she couldn’t identify. It was silent, barely audible, like…moaning? Could it be that there was somebody else in the cellar? That thought at first evoke fear in her, but then Bree realised, that if that person was moaning, he or she was probably in the same situation as hers, so she decided to get closer. However, it wasn’t going to be easy. When she tried to get up, the pain instantly came back. She assumed her leg was broken. Just Perfect! Bree thought. Having no other way to move, Bree started to crawl slowly towards the sound, trying not to think of the leg, which felt as if it was filled with shattered glass.

It seemed that the trip to the other side of the room took her ages, even though there were no obstacles on her way—the basement was completely empty. As Bree was drawing nearer to the source of the moaning, she noticed that the voice must be male. She wanted to say something so as not to scare the man, but the only sound that came from her mouth was a stifled groan, followed by a cough, which set her throat on fire. That must have caught the man’s attention, for he instantly stopped moaning and even breathing. Bree made another attempt to communicate with the man. The cough has probably cleared her throat and she was able to say silently:

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Oh yeah? And how do I know you’re not one of them?”, asked the man, trying to sound confident.
(Them? Oh, great! There’s more than one?)
“I guess I don’t have any proof. You have no other choice than to take my word for it.” Bree started coughing again.
“I will decide about it. Who are you?”
“I’m Bree. And you?”
“I’m Mark. You must be a new arrival?”
“It seems so. How long have you been here?”
“Hard to tell, under the circumstances, but does it make any difference? I just hope to postpone the inevitable, for as long as possible.”
“You mean…death?”
“If only, if only”, Mark said with anxiety in his voice.
“Then what is it?”
“You haven’t been to the other room, have you? The one with the surgical table?”
“No, at least not that I know about it. Although, now that I think of it, I could use an actual doctor’s advice. My leg is broken and probably not only that.”
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing we could use for support—”, he paused, holding his breath.
“What is it?”, asked Bree, worried.
“Shh!”, Mark hissed.

Bree heard a quiet roar. As it was drawing nearer, she recognised the sound of a car engine. It can’t be good, Bree thought.

She heard the wheels roll on the gravel, the car door opening, shutting and then footsteps. She could hear Mark nervously fidgeting.

“What’s going on?”, she whispered.
“The hag’s going to come down here with another portion of the drug. It’s some sort of a numbing agent. It makes your limbs go numb but leaves your mind unaffected”, he explained.
“Why would they give it to us?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”

They heard a clunking noise and the door in front of them opened. In the light coming from behind the door, Bree could see a staircase with a rusty, metal handrail and patches of dark substance on the floor. The silhouette against the light was of a young, slim girl. In her hand was a searchlight, which she lit after closing the door and then begun her descent down the stairs. As the girl reached them, she put the searchlight down. The light allowed Bree to look around. What she saw was no surprise—an empty, tenebrous room. She also managed to catch a glimpse of Mark. He was a dark-haired, tall and probably once handsome man but it was difficult to tell with one of his eyes heavily bruised and closed due to the swelling. He must have been here for a very long time, as his skin was very pale, with a grey, unhealthy undertone. He had numerous nasty looking scars scattered across his body, and his clothes were so tattered, that they weren’t providing any protection against the cold of the basement. Overall, it was a devastating view, after which Bree didn’t even want to think of trying to look at her fractured leg.

“Go on, open yer mouth, ya fuckin’ whore!”, the girl shouted.
Bree recognised her—it was the Twiggy girl she’s met before. With the expression of utter contempt in her eyes, she obediently opened her mouth, swallowed the drug and opened her mouth again to show the girl that she didn’t hide it. The pill was administered to Mark as well. Having done that, Twiggy turned to Bree, grabbed her chin and said to her face:
“A pretty lass, ain’t ya? That Mark guy be lucky to have you as a bitch.”, she snickered and turned around. “I’ll come for ye in an hour.”

As she closed the door, the darkness consumed the cellar again. Bree spat her pill on the floor and moved it behind her back into a hole in the concrete floor.
“You didn’t swallow it? How come that crazy bitch didn’t notice?” Mark asked.
“I had to do that when my mom gave me anti-depressants for a depression I didn’t have. I can teach you how to do it.”
“That’ll surely come in handy— Uh, I’m sorry, I think the drug is starting to work.”
“What’s going on?”
“You remember when I told you it numbs your limbs? It also loosens all your muscles. If you ever wondered where the toilet is, well, you have the answer.”
“Oh my God…Those freaks!”
“That’s nothing—you just wait ‘till they come down here again.”, Mark said, mumbling, as the drug started to take effect on his face muscles.

Poor creature, Bree thought. Knowing that she won’t get a word out of Mark now that he’s all numbed up, she thought of realigning the fractured bones in her leg. However, as soon as the idea came to her head, immobilising fear engulfed her. It was only after a prolonged struggle, that she convinced herself that it’s the least she should do. She moved her tied hands towards the broken leg, trying to remember what she was taught at school about fractures. When she touched the skin next to the fracture to check for pulse, her leg involuntarily twitched, sending a wave of pain across her whole body. After shaking off that first unpleasant experience, Bree mustered her strength again and proceeded with realignment. Not being able to grab the leg both above and below the fracture with her hands, Bree put her shoulder on the leg to stabilise it and put her hands around the lower part of the bone. She counted to three and pulled, letting out a silent gasp of pain. After she had stayed bent in that position for a while, she noticed that the stinging has slightly subsided. If only I had something to support it with, Bree wished.

No more than 10 minutes have passed when the key turned in the keyhole and the door opened again. Only now, there were two silhouettes against the dim light. One was familiar, the other was probably a man. What was sure, however, was that he was on a wheelchair. Twiggy helped the man with great care down the stairs, closing the door behind them. The man was holding the searchlight, directing it at the door on his left. In the light, Bree could see that his face was horribly disfigured but couldn’t make out any details, because she was pretending to be under the influence of the drug. None of the “hosts” said a word. They went through the door and then only Twiggy came back with the wheelchair, loading onto it the two abductees, one by one, and taking them to the other room. The room was filled with pungent stench of rotting bodies and faeces. After Bree’s eyes had adapted to the light she was able to distinguish the shape of a surgical table and a dining one with six chairs next to it. Confused and terrified, she easily maintained the impression of being under the influence of the drug. She noticed three people sitting at the table: an elderly woman, an even older man and Mark. The former two were sitting in an unnaturally upright position with their mouths open. Their eyes were missing and their skin was extraordinarily wrinkled, partly as an effect of decomposition. As for Mark, he was lying on the chair in a disturbingly abnormal position, strapped to the back of the chair, with his head lying on his chest. Upon that devastating sight, she had to fight the scream arising inside her lungs.

Limp as a puppet, she was seated next to Mark and similarly strapped to the chair. The elderly were opposite them and at the ends of the table sat the two oppressors. Twiggy put some disgusting-looking goo in a bowl and placed it in front of the deformed man.
“Oh taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man that trusts in Him. We would trust in the Lord, and do good; So shall we dwell in the land, and we shall be fed. Amen!” prayed Twiggy, saying the words from her memory, looking down at the table. When she was done, she lifted her eyes.

“C’mon, brother, eat up. We be all together again. There be grandma and grandpa, and on yer right be mom and dad. Let m’ see joy in yer eyes, Rog.” She said, smiling. Her brother started clapping his hands and left out a yelp, which sounded like an awkward expression of happiness. He quickly dug in the bowl and started to ravenously devour its contents. To Bree’s disgust, the goo was dribbling down his cheeks. Then, Roger’s sister got up and walked up to Bree and Mark. She embraced both of them and said “See, Rog, they be with us again. D’ya want t’ give ‘em a hug?”. Roger instantly uttered another yelp and his sister helped him onto the wheelchair and moved towards the two incapacitated. Bree had to fight the irresistible urge to get up and run, but once she reminded herself of the broken leg and the stairs she would have to conquer, the fight was won and she remained still on the chair, even when the despicable man wrapped his arms around her and gave her a wet, sticky kiss on the cheek.

Soon, her patience and strong will paid off, as Mark and her were escorted back to the desolate room and left alone. As the horrendous siblings were closing the door behind them, Bree noticed that the key had been left on the other side of the door all that time.
After a couple of hours, she fell asleep. When she woke up, Mark asked her about her leg.

“I think it’s better now, thanks. The realignment must have worked and the pain is only a mild ache now.”
“And how do you feel after the—”
“…most-fucked-up-grotesque-and-creepiest-dinner-I’ve-ever-experienced-and-hope-not-to-experience-any-more? It’s a wonder you still seem normal, after doing that more times than I did. I think that if I take part in that freakshow once again, I’ll go cuckoo!” After these words left her mouth, she started to wonder if she really believed in what she was saying. Did Mark actually seem normal? Could he be normal after all this?
“Yeah, I thought the same. But now that you’ve joined us, that ceremony seems less daunting—the kid really needed a mother and now he has one.”
Did he really say us? It must be my imagination.
“If this is better, I wouldn’t want to know what’s worse.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Twiggy, who came down looking very contented, with a wide grin on her face. Apparently, this change of behaviour did not affect Bree’s attitude towards Criggy, as she liked to call her “hostess”, but she intended to use this merriness to her advantage.
“Why, aren’t you even prettier than yesterday? Did you do something else to your hair?” I could straighten it a bit more with some barbed wire, Bree added in her mind.
“Laugh it up, ya punk!” Twiggy snapped at her and the expression on her face immediately returned to that of her regular, bitter self.
“No, really, I mean it. But without the smile it’s not the same. Yes, it must’ve been the smile”, Bree continued buttering up the hostess, only now it seemed to work, since the smile returned to Twiggy’s face. Feeble, at first, but then it grew wider. Now’s my chance!
“So, did you bring any pills?”
“Yep, I’ve a treat for ye two.”
“Actually, I think that one should suffice. You see, Mark’s been cheating and not taking his doses. If I’m not mistaken, the yesterday’s one’s right behind him.” Bree knew she was taking a huge leap and she was hoping that Twiggy was as dumb as she looked.

As he words seemed to be hovering in the air between them, the uneasiness on Mark’s face changed into terror. He was starting to like Bree’s company and she certainly made this torture a lot easier. Now, his life was suddenly at stake.

“But it’s your pill! How the hell—” He didn’t have the chance to finish, as Twiggy’s hand landed on his cheek. Once, twice, three times.
“Ya think yer smart?! I’ll getcha!” she yelled, spraying saliva from her mouth. She dragged Mark to the other room, the “dining” one. All Bree could hear, were Mark’s cries of anguish and clanking of metal. That made Bree feel sorry for Mark and she regretted ratting him out but on the other hand, she knew that this was probably the only opportunity for her to escape. She was convinced that Mark was already too far in this macabre to ever become normal again.

Clinging onto a wall, Bree stood up, careful not to hurt her leg. The stairs seemed ominous in her eyes but also tempting. She gritted her teeth and started climbing up the stairs. The noises from the other room seemed blurred, as her aim now was the rectangle of light above her. It took no longer than two minutes for her to reach it, although it seemed like ages, with her mindfully moving the leg, step by step. As soon as she entered the room on the ground floor, she noticed Roger sitting on his wheelchair, with his back turned conveniently to her. Bree knew she wouldn’t be able to come near enough to break his neck without him noticing, not with the fractured leg. Having no time to lose, she looked around the room and locked the sturdy door behind her, the door she hated. She didn’t care now if Roger shouted, for Criggy wouldn’t hear that, just like Bree couldn’t hear Mark’s screams of agony, and that silence was bliss. She quickly reached for a plank of wood lying nearby, serving probably as a bolt for the door. With the plank in her hand, she walked towards the man. The fact that he noticed her and was now looking in her direction did not surprise her. What did surprise her, was that he started to make those gurgling sounds of joy he made previously during the “dinner”. Right, he’s convinced that I’m his mother.

When Bree reached him she did not hesitate – she hammered on his head with the plank like with a battering ram. She continued, with indifferent look on her face, until she realised, she was hitting the floor. Roger’s head was now a puddle of skull shards and bloody goo.
Afraid that the noise might alarm the neighbours, which at that precise moment was the last thing she wanted, Bree grabbed the wheelchair and used it to get out of the house. She was turning the wheels so fast, that her fingers started bleeding, but she didn’t notice. She wanted to go as far away as possible—that was the only thought on her head. She was driving and driving, until she noticed a mural which seemed oddly familiar. Not knowing why, she started crying.

Copyright © 2012 Maria „Necraria” Górska. All rights reserved.
Ostatnio zmieniony czw 01 sty, 1970 przez Necraria, łącznie zmieniany 2 razy.
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