Beneath its Skin

This is a short story about something dear to me.

I find myself lost for words in this place. We often go throughout life walking past the gallery of faces on the street with out ever really knowing where those faces came from or what their story is. This place is the keeper of stories. A place locked in time claiming ownership over so many souls. It’s drawn a liking to the younger crowd; no one over eighteen fits the bill. We think we know who’s going to be running our country in the next twenty to thirty years, but the sad truth is, we don’t.

            Not far from the civilized streets of Columbia Missouri lye’s a cottage surrounded by black gates. Beside this cottage there is an open field that turns into a hill. On this hill there are four other cottages that look exactly like it. Its walls are made of brick and a simple plaster. The roof is like any other and the windows a hard hollow plastic. Its doors held in place with an electrical magnet so that only a select few may pass. A dull hollow pain rests on these walls. Its attempt at a warm and welcoming appearance is muted to the screams that come from its sheltered existence. There are balls laying in the grass next to the picnic tables beside the cottage. Do not be fooled by this illusion for the closer you come to the table the more and more you hear the whispers. The markings that have been engraved in these tables hold truth to a world hidden from the outside viewer. As you stand next to the table you can’t help but notice a face peering out at you. It appears to be a boy, young and healthy looking. He smiles at you trying to welcome you in, but as you approach you notice the boy’s shadow. Much larger in size and holding something in it’s hand. He is waiting for you. 

            You make it past the iron doors and the clicking sound that follows lets you know you’re in. You stand now in a kitchen much like any kitchen. The walls are covered with posters of foods the kids have posted up. There to your right are cupboards, a sink, and what appears to be a decent looking oven. You move past the cubbies where an alignment of shoes sit neatly. You see the refrigerator but can’t help but notice that there are indentions all over it. You think to yourself, how is it possible that so many dents could be on this thing. Then you see it, the boy who was waiting for you runs full speed and slams his head into the freezer door. He continues to do it until an adult comes running in and removes the boy from the kitchen. A small smear of blood rests in the place of the new dent. Then it hits you, a metallic aroma consumes you and works its way through out your senses. It becomes too strong and you work your way out into the hallway. Again the walls are covered in decorations and posters that the kids have posted up. It is fall and the array of oranges and blacks feel comforting. You see a group of boys down the hall sitting at a hard plastic table with stools for seats. They are cutting out pumpkin shapes and coloring them in. They laugh and joke together and one of them waves at you. It’s the boy from the window. His forehead has been bandaged and a staff member sits beside him. In this room you notice many doors surrounding the living room area. Two couches sit helplessly in its center. Chunks of the couches have been ripped up and its insides have begun to hang loose. Each door resembles the one you entered to get into the building. Only difference is they have no magnet just a key whole. The walls are an off white color with selective patching. You can tell multiple coats have been applied to these walls and as you move closer you can almost see the finger nail marks beneath them.

            From this room there are three hallways. One is the one you came from and the other two lead to a dead end. In these hallways there are rooms like the ones in the living room area. One of the doors is open. As you approach a boy comes out from the open room and gives you a hug, he feels so innocent. When he turns to walk away from you, you realize that he was whispering something.

             “I’m gonna f*****g kill you when you’re not looking”.

             You try telling yourself that he’s joking but there’s always that eerie feeling deep inside that he’s not. Moving forward you enter the open door way to the room. There lye’s a bed with fitted sheets and a transformer blanket. A shelf sitting to your left has an arrangement of clothes and toys that belong to the boy. You notice a picture sitting there of the boys family, they’re all smiling at you. You take a step back and look over the cottage one more time. All in all it appears to be a place of welcoming and a place of healing but inside these walls the only comfort is knowing the pain.    

            I visit this place quite often mainly because I work here. In this place I have learned many things about the world around me. I choose this place because I like these boys had a very upsetting childhood. As I work to better these kids’ lives I also help myself. I often forget that I’m the adult which these young men look up too. However over time I have found more of myself and no longer see myself as a child. My past is behind me. As I walk through these doors out into the world surrounding this place I know that I can visit my past anytime, in the keeper of stories.                             

     

Author's Note

Ignore grammar issues.

Reviews

[Hello, Goodbye]

It churns with emotion and it displays itself well.. I enjoyed reading it much.

[deeps]

This is quite the emotional story you have here. I like this alot. It's very descriptive and very well written.

[Savannah]

Well said.