Chapter Three

 

The next morning I wake and push the covers off my body with my right hand. Getting out of bed I realize I cannot move my entire left arm. I lift my sleeve, wondering what nasty surprise awaits me today. I see several shallow puncture wounds. “What happened to me?” I wonder, “And how long have I been out this time?” I couldn't remember a single thing since I had entered the yard yesterday after the lecture. Something must've happened then.

 

In the shower I tried to wash the blood from my shoulder but as the blood ran down my arm I realize its nowhere near healed and I run out of hot water before the water runs clean off my shoulder. Stepping out of the shower, I gingerly wrap a towel around my shoulder and do my best to pull a shirt over the bulge.

 

At breakfast everyone wanted to what happened. For the first time since the fight in the bathroom I was silent. I had no story to tell. I instead listened to the stories of how I was muscled out of the crowd and forced against my will into the compound, with as many as ten men holding me down depending on who you asked.

 

During one of these stories, I get an urgent tap on my right shoulder, it was a younger kid named Rex. Rex had been here about six months and had already developed a reputation for sneakiness. He was usually a very carefree child, but today he looked worried.

 

“He's alive, I saw him in the hall.”

 

“Potter?”

 

“Yeah, thought I'd let you know.”

 

I could only imagine what was in store for my with Potter back from his alleged death.

 

My thoughts were interrupted my the moving bell. People pour out into the hall. I stand by the door wondering if it's wise to continue, but looking behind me I quickly make my decision seeing seeing several guards moving towards me. I dart into the hall pushing my way to the middle with my right arm, staying ahead of the guards for fear of their freezing auras. My blood runs cold when I see Potter's face, twenty feet in front of me holding an ax.

 

As if waiting for my arrival he begins to speak, “In light of recent events, we here at this lovely rehabilitation center think it's about time you boys give something back,” stepping aside he reveals a barrel of axes behind him.

 

“So it's time to chop wood you slugs, and if you think this is a good opportunity to escape,” pausing he pulls a stubby yellow and black gun from his pocket and points it at a nearby kid, who flinches and then lets out a sigh of relief when he realized he hasn't been shot. “Well, let's just say you might want to rethink that.” Potter pulls the trigger firing four one inch metal pins into the boys chest, each pin is connected to the gun by a wire. “You can't escape,” he says pulling on the gun, jerking the boy sharply forward and demonstrating the pins don't let go once they're in. The kid screams in pain, Potter smiles. “You can't resist,” he says, his thumb depressing a button on the side of the gun. Crackling fills the air as a large jolt of electricity is sent down the wires and into the boys minuet frame, the initial jolt is enough to send him backwards into the crowd, kids clear out of his way in fear. Potter grins as the poor child writhes in pain, thin wisps of smoke rising off his clothes. Pressing another button the end of the gun falls to the ground, wires falling with it and at last the boys body is still. Replacing the end piece, he barks, “Now get your axes.”

 

He picks about 20 of the older boys, including me, to go with him as well as about 5 guards, all holding guns just like his. Our group walks out into the yard and out the back which is kept locked. As we walk down the path beyond the gate we are each given an ax and assigned a tree to cut down. When I got my tree I simply stood next to it, after all having only one usable arm I could barely hold the ax, how would I be able to swing it?

 

After every boy had a tree Potter meandered down the path, giving me ample time to contemplate my fate if I didn't start chopping soon. Grinning, he approaches me, gun in hand.

 

“What's wrong? Too weak to swing an ax? Or perhaps your too lazy.” He let out a sinister chuckle as he watched me squirm. He stood closer to me, breathing a cold foul breath onto my face. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of my failure I struggle to grasp the ax in both hands and lift it up from beside me. My face contorted in pain, my arm felt as if it had been pierced by a thousand burning needles. Potter's face is streaked with pleasure as I suffer, he must have had something to do with my shoulder I decide, he is enjoying this too much. Lifting the ax I swing at the tree, the force of the impact causing blood to trickle slowly from my wounds. I continue to swing at the tree, ignoring the pain, ignoring the warm blood against my arm, ignoring his sickening laughter as I work. Blood began to softly gush and spurt from my shoulder, slowly rolling down my arm, amusing him, exciting him. Feeling lightheaded, the trees around me begin to spin and I collapse face up at his feet.

 

“Get up.” I try to force my body to obey but to no avail.

 

“Get up.” This time he says it loud enough for all to hear.

 

A tear of frustration rolls down my cheek. My body won't move. I don't care if it hurts, I tell myself, i will do this if it kills me. I will not give Potter the satisfaction of watching me fail. I try, exhausting all of the energy available to me I try once more of move only to find my attempt even more useless than before.

 

I cant help but cry as he points his gun down at me.

 

“Get up now!” He bellows, attracting the attention of everyone in the woods. He seems to wait until they're all looking my way and he says with a sneer,”You should've got up.”

 

He fires the gun straight into my left shoulder. When the needles enter I figure there can be no worse pain. He presses the button, I couldn't have imagined I could be this wrong. Pain rockets across every synapse in my body. Fading out of consciousness I decide I must stop this.

 

Eyes closed I move my hand to the needles in my shoulder to pull them out but I cant feel them. Forcing my eyes open I realize my arm hasn't moved at all. I am overcome with a sickening nausea as my lungs are filled with the smell of burning towel and flesh. Then I realize something, I have at least an inch of towel over my shoulder and the needles couldn't be much over and inch long. With newfound determination and hope a force my pain stricken body to move. My right arm begins to move to the edge of my towel, he laughs at what he must think to be a futile attempt to stop my agony. Grabbing the towel firmly in my hand, I tear it down and away from my shoulder, the barbed tips releasing a final surge of pain as they rip free from my skin. Even with the needles out I am to Exhausted to move.

 

“Take him inside, the lazy miscreant is pathetically useless out here.” And with that command my lifeless body is carried back to to my room and I'm placed on my bed, falling asleep before I even hit the sheets.