Benedict's Story | Chapter Two

Benedict wakes up and find himself in a strange palce. He is confronted by a man claiming to his uncle, and threatened by another named Travis.

 

 I was not in Hausa anymore. Hausa was a rundown city, barely alive if it wasn’t for the local carnivals they threw every few months. Hausa held no skyscrapers, no sidewalks, and defiantly not this many cars. Hausa was rural and this place was not. This place was covered in buildings; like the ground was a rotting horse and the buildings were flies. Hundreds of cars gathered around every building or so.

 

 Impulsively I attempted to rub my head, but I couldn’t. Thick fibers bound my arms securely behind me. Of course, I struggled uselessly. “Damn, if this had been a lock I would be gone already,” I mused aloud. “That’s one of the reasons why its not,” a voice in the background answered.

 

 I turned my head, thrashing my head to sneak a view at my guest. It was the fat man. In a flash he transported from the wide bay windows to next me. “Holy crap, are you some kind of ninja or something?” It was a good question in my mind. I mean after all he has to be one of the fastest people I know and on top of that he’s about as overweight as half the people I steal from. And I'm talking really overweight, like lards on top of lards of fat overweight. I haven’t been caught yet, not counting the fat man here.

 

 The fat man ignored me. I was pulled quite violently to a chair. He gestured at the chair and I refused to acknowledge suggestion. As a result of my insubordination, I was yanked into the chair, presented to a mid-thirties man. “What’s your name?” he asked.

 

 “Why should I tell you?” Okay, I was being stubborn. Let me tell all you captives out there, give in. If you don’t, pain is sure to follow and unless you’re some masochist you will not enjoy whatever your kidnapper has in mind. Or at least good threats that will make you shiver in fear.

 

 “I could always get, Travis over there to sit on you.” I looked over to the fat man. If he was offended in any way, he didn’t show it. Whether he was going to actually carry out that threat, I didn’t want to find out.

 

 “Garther Benedict,” I said submissively.

 

 “You’re lying.” I think I know my own name, old man. My thoughts though stayed silent.

 

 “Okays. My real name is Billy Bob Joe.” I snickered. That was first name that came to my head. Sure, I was scared out of my wits of being sat on, but I had loosened the ropes.

 

 “Why you little sh-“the man started, he never finished that little comment either. I pulled roughly on the coarse rope. My thief instincts stated to take control; I could imagine myself back on grimy streets of Hausa running from my latest victim and not in a spotless office trying to escape from my captors. “Travis don’t just stand there!”

 

 This Travis was going to be a problem. Agilely I slid under his arm, away from his reach. Please be open, I pleaded to invisible gods. I dragged the door open, luckily it was unlocked or else my arm would’ve defiantly pulled something. I welcomed the innumerable crowds that filled the room in front of me. Maybe I can slip into these crowds, but that thought diminished when I recognized the business like clothing that differed from my causal wear. “I won’t be able to fit in.”

 

 “There he is!” The stranger was back. I ran for the stairs, successfully knocking over piles of papers. A lot of people in that office that day were very mad that day. Such as a certain ordinary man who took the chance to grabbed my collar, before I ambushed his own mountains of papers. That’s it, what has the world come to, I contemplated, fast fat men and extraordinarily strong ordinary everyday office workers.

 

 “Thank-you Mr. Oms. This is my nephew and he’s being quite a bother today, isn’t he?” Nephew? How am I his nephew? I was caught off guard by Travis, who replaced the other stranger’s hand with his own. “Everyone, get back to work!” commanded my ‘uncle’.

 

 Wrenching me from the assembly of busy-bodies, Travis hissed “Scared little man?” He laughed cruelly into my ear, spit packing into my ear. I frantically tried to kick Travis, but soon found myself off the ground. I soon found myself back into the room we were in earlier.

 

 “I’m not related with kidnappers.” I harshly retorted as Travis released me.

 

 “And I’m not supposed to be related to thieves.” I felt Travis back away; he’s presence now lingering around the table of watermelon slices, which he nosily ate.

 

 “Where’s your mother, Garther?” My ‘uncle’s voice was rushed like he needed to know the information. “She’s dead.” My voice was flat and emotionless. I loved my mother, so don’t act like I’m some heartless b*****d. It’s just that she seemed to not care for herself after my father left. She entered into the Hausa’s underworld, and wasn’t ready for it. The underworld rejected her and in retaliation she tried to immerse herself in it. Coming home every night smelling of her newfound job, prostitution. Then actual underworld people came.

Author's Note

Well I decided to keep it at first person, even though I might regret it later on in this story. Please review. I read through it a couple of times..and I don't tihnk there are any mistakes. But my editor, curse him Travis, is being slightly lazy (on strike -.-=) so I haven't gotten any one to read it through for me..